#i will most likely completely ignore the sequel

[akascow]

lmao i guess my intuition about joker 2 going to be a terrible movie was correct lol i love being right about things i dont care about

[punkshort]

Welcome to Shortie's Joel Miller masterlist! Below is a mix of pre and post outbreak stories, most are 18+. Thank you for reading❤️

The Way We Were [complete]: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. When the outbreak happens, you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Look What We've Become [complete - sequel to TWWW]: You are tasked with taking a young girl back to her family while trying to salvage your relationship with Joel after certain events cause the biggest strain either of you have ever had to face.

I'll Be Home for Christmas [on-going]: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.

Somewhere to Run [complete]: You move to a small town in the middle of Texas to escape your past and start over. You don't expect to fall for the town's handsome sheriff.

I Know Who You Are [complete]: A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

Roommates [complete]: Your roommate, Maria, introduces you to her boyfriend's brother. You hit it off immediately, but when you find out the true nature of his profession, you both decide to remain just friends. But once the four of you eventually move in together, things get... complicated.

Swept Away [complete]: Detached, closed off, and hardened by failed relationships (romantic and otherwise), hotel mogul Joel Miller is looking to expand his empire to an exclusive tropical island off the coast of Fiji. The problem is, he's not the only one looking to stake his claim in the tropics. The owner of the island, a family man first and foremost, invites all the bidders to the island for a month long retreat to help him decide which mogul will be crowned the winner. And to make himself look more appealing, Joel hires you to accompany him as his significant other. But it's strictly business... right?

Evergreen [in progress]: Two unlikely strangers meet and bond over a shared trauma. But what happens when the lines unexpectedly blur and they're both overcome with guilt? Will they allow themselves to love again, or will they choose to drown in their grief?

I hate when you're right: After a heated argument with Joel, you finally convince him to leave Jackson so you could explore a store for new clothes, and what happens could change your life forever.

Have a Good Night: Every week like clockwork, the same devastatingly handsome man comes into the grocery store where you work to buy flowers. It's not until he asks you out when you realize the flowers aren't for his wife or girlfriend.

Night Shift: It was a relatively quiet night in the emergency room until a handsome contractor gets admitted and adds some excitement to your life.

Hard to Handle: One year after Joel cheats on you and gets someone else pregnant, you run into him for the first time.

Five Senses: You catch Joel sneaking off to do something in the middle of the night and curiosity gets the best of you.

A Deeper Purpose: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except for one.

-> Love at First Sight: Joel helps you through your delivery.

-> A Deeper Meaning: Now that your daughter is born, Joel is itching for another but you are still feeling a little discouraged with the way your body looks. He quickly puts an end to those feelings.

Come Fly with Me: You and Joel have fun in the cockpit.

Something Unexpected: It's been ten years since you lived in Texas, and of course the first week back, you run into a familiar face from your past.

First Impressions: When your heater breaks in the dead of winter, you get more than you bargained for when Joel Miller arrives to fix it.

Flinched: The day after Sarah died, he flinched.

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 9

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Eira has no idea how to deal with her sister, Azriel kills two Mountain Lions that try to kill him first, Rhys and Cassian are very amused and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

He had known it was going to come. In the end, he was surprised that it took Mor that long.

Azriel was in his room at the House of Wind, working on some of the never-ending piles of paperwork when it happened. It started with a soft knock on the door, quiet and hesitant. And then without waiting for a response, the door pushed open, revealing Mor on the other side, her expression solemn.

His eyebrows rose.

“Can we…Can we talk, Az?” She asked, her voice shaky. Azriel's eyes swept over her quickly, taking in her expression- the way her face was so solemn, the worry clear in her eyes.

Azriel was suddenly filled with the strange, almost certain knowledge that he would not enjoy this conversation. "Of course," he said quietly.

Mor stepped into his room and then her eyes caught at the Wall, at “Azriel’s obsessive chart of Eira’s life”, a grin overtaking her features.

He grimaced faintly at the sight of the notes. He knew how it sounded, how it looked. Obsessive was a good word for it, though Azriel would have preferred the word organized in this specific instance.

"Ignore that," he said drily as she approached it.

Mor ignored his words and stepped even closer, her eyes skimming over some of the different notes and observations.

"Did you make a timeline of everything you know about her life?" She sounded somewhere between amused and baffled, and Azriel just let out an annoyed breath.

"It's the most organized way of making sure I have all the facts in order," he protested, rising slowly to his feet.

The timeline had been an impulse more than anything, but it had ended up being a good way of making sure he didn't miss anything important. Anything he needed to know, or should know, to be a good mate to her...and he knew how it looked.

"Did you have to highlight the important facts?" Mor asked, and Azriel scowled.

"Yes. It saves time."

She just rolled her eyes and turned to face him. "You do realize how stalkerish this looks, right?"

"It isn't stalking," he said, folding his arms. It was just...a very detailed timeline of her life, highlighting all the information and knowledge that he needed to make sure he was the best mate he could be.

It wasn't stalking .

Mor just looked at him steadily for a few seconds, her face a mixture of concern and incredulity.

"Right," she said finally. "Because having a timeline of a female's entire life, with every piece of important information marked in different colours, obviously has nothing at all to do with stalking."

Azriel made a low grumble but didn't disagree. He had never denied the...obsessive part of the information he had gathered on her.

"Call it what you will," he grumbled. "I just...like being prepared. I like...making sure I know important information."

Mor's expression softened then, and she stepped towards him, her eyes flickering over his face, studying his expression.

"I get that," she murmured. "But can I ask you something?"

Azriel shrugged, his eyes watching her carefully. This conversation wasn't going the way he'd expected, and that almost made him more nervous.

"Ask away," he said quietly, his voice a little stiff. 

She stopped right in front of him, sighing softly and looking at him steadily. "Are you in love with her?"

The question was blunt and came out of nowhere. It took him completely by surprise, and it took him several seconds to gather his thoughts sufficiently to answer.

He shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts together. "I..." He paused, his mind still reeling from the shock of the question. “She’s my mate,” he finally said. “I didn’t treat her how I should have treated her. None of us have. And I am working on getting to know her, finding out why the cauldron thinks we work well together. I enjoy the time we spent together. I adore her.”

Mor's eyes flickered over his face, studying his expression as he spoke, watching his reaction to her question. A long moment passed as she studied him.

"That's not an answer," she said softly. "You didn't actually answer my question."

“I am falling in love,” Azriel said quietly. “More and more with every evening we spent together, with every conversation we have, with everything I learn about her.”

Mor stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. And then-

"Are you happy?"

The question was quiet, almost whispered.

Azriel smiled faintly, looking at her. "Never been happier," he answered honestly.

Mor let out a breath, and she closed her eyes for a moment, looking like it was a relief to know the answer to her question. "Good," she said quietly, opening her eyes, and he could see the relief in her gaze. "That's...good."

“But that’s not why you are here,” Azriel said quietly.

Her expression darkened then, and she shifted on her feet, her eyes darting away, looking...uncomfortable. Her hesitation was enough to set off alarm bells in his head.

"What?" he asked, his voice tight. " What is this about, Mor?"

”I…I owe you a long overdue apology,” Mor said quietly.

He went still, shock flooding through him as he stared at her. For a few seconds, he was completely stunned. “You...” Azriel mumbled faintly. “You...want to apologize?”

”Yes. I owe Cassian one as well…for using him as my buffer for five whole centuries but I owe you one for…leading you on.”

He stared at her in stunned silence for a long few seconds- just processing the words, the implication of her words, her confession. He had...always known, always suspected, that Mor hadn’t returned his feelings, that she couldn’t return his feelings and was just using him, but hearing her say it- admitting it- stung all the same.

He stared at her in stunned silence for a long few seconds- just processing the words, the implication of her words, her confession. He inhaled deeply, trying to keep his control and his expression neutral.

"Why now?" he whispered, his voice a little strangled. "Why...why are you apologizing now? After all these years?"

"Because I messed up," Mor admitted weakly. "Because I...Rhys had a talk with me. I can't even remember the last time I saw him that angry outside of wartime, Az. And I realised that I...I need to do better ."

Azriel's breath hitched faintly at her words, his eyes closing briefly. He had...suspected that Rhys had talked to her- but he hadn't known that she had been on the receiving end of a truly furious High Lord. Which was a shock in itself, but it was a welcome shock. Mor wasn't his...but she was still one of his friends, and he just wanted her to be happy.

"You are only the first one in line I owe an apology to," Mor said weakly. "I owe one to Cassian too. And to Eira."

"We all owe Eira an apology," Azriel said tightly. "We fucked up. We are trying to fix it, but it will take years for her to even start getting over what we did. We are her family. We should have done better."

Mor's expression darkened, and she exhaled slowly. She looked...ashamed almost, her eyes flickering towards his wall. The wall was covered in notes about Eira and her life.

"We should have," she admitted quietly, a little bit choked. "We should have...done so much better, should have been better...and we're going to have to work very hard to fix it. But don't change the topic, Azriel," she said pointedly. "I should have treated you much better as well."

He exhaled slowly, his entire chest tightening further at her words.

"It's...it's fine, Mor," he murmured quietly, trying to convince himself as much as her. "It's...you...you don't owe me an apology. You never did-"

“Yes, I do,” she interrupted, her voice a little harsh as she cut him off mid-sentence. “Az, I…I have been a terrible friend for 500 years. I made sure to keep you as a backup plan, knowing that you were in love with me, and I never even gave you the slightest bit of respect, or affection, despite everything you have done for me...despite everything you do, every day, for all of us.”

Her voice was becoming a little strangled as she spoke, a hint of a pleading tone entering her words as she continued to speak.

“You’ve been one of the most loyal males I’ve ever met, and you…you deserved more than what I gave you. I led you on for centuries. I…I used you-”

His chest felt tight, almost aching at her words, and it was so hard to just stand there, listening to her as she admitted everything he had known for centuries. But it stung just the same to hear her say it out loud. To hear her say she had been leading him on - using him- for centuries.

He took a slow, deep breath, looking away from her, trying to get his emotions back under some measure of control. "Why?" he asked finally, his voice hoarse. "Why...why did you...do it? Why���why lead me on, if you knew you were never going to return my feelings?"

Mor inhaled shakily, her own voice soft now, sounding like she was struggling with her own emotion.

“Because I’m a coward,” Mor admitted softly, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I’ve always been a coward…and I was scared. I was scared of losing the way my life was, the...the way we were. I was...a coward...and I was selfish. And…I hurt you because of it. I’m sorry, Az.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, the words ripping at him and easing the tightness in his chest at the same time.

His heart was still thudding, a strange mixture of a thousand emotions flickering through him. There was still pain, and a hint of anger, and a little bit of longing- but there was guilt, too. Some of this...some of it was on him.

“I wasn’t exactly perfect either,” he said quietly.

Mor laughed then, a soft, choked, sad laugh.

“You are the most loyal person I have ever met, Az. The most selfless, devoted person I have ever known.” She paused, looking at him steadily. “You are a far better person than you have any right to be. You deserve so much better than what you got- and I am deeply ashamed for all the pain I caused you.” She sighed. "I could never be what you wanted or what you needed...But I think...I think Eira could be that for you. If you give her a chance," she said quietly.

Azriel stared at her in silence for a moment, the thought of Eira filling his mind. He thought of her…of his mate, of the quiet, gentle female- how she smiled, and laughed, how she blushed- and how she loved. How she was so kind and caring, and so very...honest.

And how much he wanted- needed- to spend the rest of his immortal life with her.

"I want to," he admitted quietly, his voice almost a little hoarse. "I...I really do."

Mor smiled faintly, a flash of something flashing across her face. Pride, and sadness, and hope all at once.

“Good,” she said quietly. “Good…because I think you two could be so, so, happy, Az. And you both deserve that happiness. And I am...so, so, sorry it took me this long to see it. So be happy, Az. Be happy."

It was more of a closure than he ever thought he would have.  It was. Mor's apology, her confession…

It was a final nail in the coffin, a confirmation of what he had long suspected. He was finally starting to get over the centuries-long obsession- and closure seemed to be the final piece he had still been lacking.

And so, when he did get to see Eira that evening...when the two of them took a slow walk along the Sidra, her hand curled into the crook of his elbow and she told him about her day in that quiet, gentle way of hers... a part of him relaxed.

A tiny piece of himself relaxed. The tension he hadn’t realised he had been carrying for centuries faded.

He was still working on getting to know her, still getting over what had happened in his past, with Mor. But he felt lighter in an odd way. Freer than he had been for centuries .

This was who he wanted, he thought. Eira wasn’t just his mate, or the female for whom the cauldron had made him, she was perfect .

She was quiet and gentle, and so very soft-spoken. She made him smile, and he loved how soft her hand felt, her small and slender fingers curled into the crook in his elbow, her slim, slender frame moving alongside his so very comfortably.

She knew how to make him laugh without trying. How to set his heart racing, and how to make him feel completely at peace all at the same time.

Everything about her felt like perfection- like she had been crafted just for him. In some ways, she had been. The cauldron had decided that she and he would be perfect together, but he was realising now how much the cauldron had been right.

And that he got this with Eira…it was a fucking privilege. She had every right to turn him down and to find herself a male who didn’t behave utterly idiotically and didn’t see what was right in front of him until it was already too late.

"What are your birthday wishes this year?" he asked Eira as they continued their slow walk, taking in the sights and scents of Velairs. 

He had an idea…but if she wanted something else…

Eira was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she mused on the question. And when she spoke- her voice was even softer than usual. Filled with an odd sort of hesitance."You don't need to get me anything," she said softly. "Just...just be there."

His heart stuttered faintly at the words, and he turned to look at her, his eyes flickering over her face as he took a moment to process her answer. He had expected her to say something else, to ask for something from him. But her answer...it was so simple, so...so honest it made something in his chest ache.

"I'll be there," he promised her. "But I more thought along the lines of something you could unwrap.

Her cheeks blazed with colour and for one moment he didn't understand what that was about before he did.

Something she could unwrap.

The words hit him with the force of a wrecking ball, his imagination immediately going to something...less than innocent. He had not meant the comment to come out that way- but the words had come out, and judging by the way her cheeks were burning, his mate had got the exact same implication out of his words that he had.

She inhaled sharply, her cheeks burning brighter now as her eyes widened.

“A book or embroiders floss or...or...or something," he finished feebly, struggling to keep his words - and thoughts - in check.

Get a hold of yourself, Azriel scolded himself silently.

It was not proper to have these sorts of...ideas...about his mate. He was supposed to be wooing her- getting to know her - not imagining the things her request had inadvertently made him think of.

But...but he still hadn't been able to push the image out of his head now that it was there. Her, laying on his bed- his bed- and-...

He forced himself to change the subject. To think of something else. Anything else.

And then he was doused in cold water at Eira's next words: "Are you angry at Elain?"

He was startled, her words yanking his mind away from the thoughts that had been running rampant and forcing him back to reality.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding a little strained as he came back to the present moment

She is worried about you at Elain's wedding, Master, his shadows whispered.

Azriel went still as he slowly replayed the words in his head.

She was...worried about Elain's wedding? Worried about him?

Why? he demanded.

Because she thinks you could see her and want her and not your mate, The shadows hissed back. We told her you could never want The Seer again.

He was rendered quite speechless by the words. She...thought he could…

Azriel was frozen in place, his mind working furiously as he struggled to process the words, to wrap his head around them.

She...She was worried ? About him? Because she was afraid he would still feel something- anything - for Elain? Did Eira honestly think that he could ever want Elain again after what she did?!

It was...insane, but the very idea that she might have been worrying about him - that she had been concerned about his reaction at the wedding - was oddly touching, as well as completely stupid.

Did she honestly think he would have wanted Elain even after finding her? After knowing she was his mate?

Eira was worried. Worried he would look at Elain and want her instead. She was sweet, kind, and gentle...and yet she was so very insecure. She didn't think herself to be worthy of being his mate- which was the most ridiculous thing possible.

And Azriel knew that he hadn't made any of it any better.

He wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and shower her with reassurances, but he had no idea how to convince her he would never, ever, want anyone else.

Eira was...so perfect, so sweet and soft and gentle- And she didn't think she was enough.

She didn't think that he could want her, because of Elain of all people.

It made his chest ache, the way she felt about herself, about her place in his life, and the fact he had done nothing to make her think he cared. He had not made her feel wanted. Wanted by him.

She had no reason to be worried; no reason to be insecure. And yet she was, and it broke his heart to realise that some of that insecurity had to do with him. He had failed to set her mind at ease, to convince her that there was no one in this entire world that he could want but her.

He hadn't done anywhere near a good enough job of convincing her that she was the only one for him. He hadn't done a good job at all to soothe her worries, to make her feel better about herself. To make her feel...loved.

He had not shown her how much he valued her, his sweet, beautiful mate, and he had done nothing to convince her that she was the only one for him.

"You really think that I will ever be able to look at Elain with anything other than hatred, ever again?" he asked her quietly. "After what she did ? After what she tried to take from us?"

Her eyes widened faintly, a hint of surprise on her face as his words sunk in.

She looked stunned, and a little ashamed, before something else flickered across her face. Hope, or something like hope, and relief. Relieved that the idea he might have still...wanted Elain to be his mate was so laughable to him.

"I am livid," he said, his voice strangely calm. "What she tried to take from us...what she tried to deny us...I will never forgive her for that."

He paused for a moment, his own words sinking in as he felt them.

Angry.

The word echoed in his mind, but it didn't seem to cover the depth of the emotions inside him.

He had always wanted a family. Had always wanted children. Had wanted what he himself had never had as a child. He had wanted to have a mate, and a family, and everything that came with having a mate and a family.

Centuries of watching others find that kind of happiness while knowing that the chances of it happening for him were so slim…

So many years of being so very alone, and wishing for something that he was starting to think wouldn’t ever happen to him. And after having finally found it- he was pissed that someone had tried to take it from him.

And there was guilt, too, if he was being honest with himself. Guilt for having been so stupid, foolish enough to fall prey to Elain's manipulations, to let himself be played like a puppet by her words and subtle tricks.

He had been so blind, letting himself be fooled by her for so many months, and in the end, it was only the miracle of the cauldron's intervention...the very thing Elain had been trying to prevent, in order to hurt him...that had led him to his mate.

And now…

He was angry and guilty and a dozen other things all at once.

Eira was staring at him, a mixture of stunned surprise and shame on her face, and a wave of realisation swept over him. "You do not ever, ever need to worry about my feelings for Elain again," he pledged. "I swear to you."

Her shoulders sagged faintly, a wave of something like pure relief washing over her face, and a flash of shame and embarrassment flickered in her eyes.

She looked a little sheepish as if her insecurity was something to be ashamed of, and he knew that he needed to say more. Needed to reassure her that her fears, her own insecurity, were a mistake and that she had been worrying over nothing.

"Elain…" Azriel began slowly, drawing a breath to steady his own emotions. "She...she was someone I found...physically attractive. She is beautiful and charming. But that is as far as my feelings for her ever went. That is all she ever was - all she will ever be to me. Elain is also one of the ugliest people I ever met, driven by jealousy and envy. She tried to keep her vision from becoming reality. For no other reason but her own jealousy. She hurt you, Eira. She hurt you and she tried to take our children from us."

He paused then, a flash of rage filling his veins as he thought about everything Elain had done.

Trying to stop him and Eira from mating...trying to deny them their children...

Trying to cause Eira such pain, to the point of tears, and for what?

Jealousy.

She had hurt his mate because she had been jealous.

Trying to stop her vision from coming true...she hadn't just been hoping that his and Eira's mating wouldn't happen. She has been actively trying to prevent it. She had manipulated and played him like a fool, letting him believe that she cared for him, all the while…

All the while, she had been plotting, trying to push him away from his mate, trying to cause problems between them...

And he had just...let her. He hadn't even realised what was happening, so wrapped up in her words and her lies.

"I hate her," he said quietly, his voice almost a growl. "I hate her. I hate her for what she did to you. For what she tried to take from us. The only reason why she isn't dead right now, why I didn't slaughter her the moment I found out, Eira, is the fact that she is your sister," he spat out.

Shock rippled across Eira's face, her mouth falling open in surprise at the venom he spoke with.

He meant every word of it too, his hatred for Elain burning in his veins.

The only reason Elain was still alive was because Eira would have been devastated if he killed her. It was the only thing that had stopped him from taking her head, the knowledge that it would hurt his mate if he did.

"If anybody else, anybody else at all, had laid their hands on my mate or on my children, I would have killed them. Damn the consequences," he hissed. "So yes, Eira. I am angry at Elain," he said evenly. "And you do not ever need to worry about my feeling for her ever again."

Eira stared at him, grey-blue eyes wide.

And Eira was watching him silently as he slowly calmed himself down, her face still stunned, but...somehow more relaxed than she had been moments ago.

As if she had needed to hear him say it as much as he had needed to say it. To know for sure that he was telling the truth - to hear him say he hated her sister, and hear him say he could never, ever look at Elain the way he looked at her.

She reached out for him, one small, soft hand against his cheek. There was no disgust on her face. If anything...there was pride there.

"Anybody else lays a hand on our children...you'll kill them," she said, her voice even. "Do not hesitate. Do not for one moment think that I do not want you to do it, that I will hate you for it, that I will judge you for it."

He stilled, stunned a little by her words.

He had been expecting...something. Discomfort, shame, or disgust at his hatred for her sister.

Instead, there was...pride, and...approval.

She...she wanted to know that he would kill for their children.

That he would kill for her, and wouldn't hesitate to do it.

The realisation sent a shiver down his spine.

Nobody had ever approved of his penchant for violence before.

Nobody had ever seemed...happy, to know how far he would be willing to go to protect his own.

And Eira - his sweet, gentle, shy, kind mate - was looking at him like it was a good thing that he would hunt down and kill for his own.

"You..." he started, stunned, as he struggled to find the words to say. "You... don't mind that I...hate her," he said slowly. "You...don't care if I kill people. To protect you - and our children."

She shook her head, the hint of a smile crossing her features.

She was...pleased. She looked....proud, that his protective instincts - his ruthless fury - would extend to her. To his mate. To protect her and their children, and anything else he considered to be under his care.

"Anyone who threatens us, you can kill," she said simply. "I will never condemn you for it. Never."

See Master, you should have let us kill The Seer, the shadows sniped.

He wrapped her in his arms, the tight coils of tension in his stomach relaxing a little as he held her tightly against his chest.

"I’ll make mistakes, as I have before. I’ll say the wrong things. I’ll probably even make you cry at some point. But I will never want anyone but you. Not Elain. Just you," he pledged in a whisper. She exhaled, her shoulders unfurling. The right thing. He had said the right thing. This...this right here, the feel of her in his arms, the sound of her steady breathing against his chest, and the soft smell of snowdrops that clung to her...this was all he needed.

His mate. Her, here, in his arms.

Just Eira.

***

Eira wasn’t allowed into the kitchen. It should probably amuse her that the twin wraiths that she called friends had thrown her out. Cerridwen and Nuala had told her that they were going to be busy with birthday preparations the whole day and that Eira wasn’t allowed to enter or she was going to destroy the surprise. 

She didn’t even want to know what the surprise was. 

So instead, she spent her day amusing Nyx in the morning before Feyre took him to a painting lesson, had her lesson with Rhys, and then disappeared into her own room to continue her sewing. 

The shadows were very helpful these days. No need for her to pin anything, they did that. They also marked the hemline on all the dresses and helped organize her embroidery floss by wrapping it around little wooden floss keys that fit into a storage container just for that. 

Another one of those things that had just suddenly appeared in her room. She hadn’t asked questions.

Today, she put the last few stitches into a gown she had made. Quite frankly…it was lovely. One of her better work if she said so herself.  

Layers upon layers of tulle and silk…overlaid and embroidered, sparkling in the afternoon sun.  She stitched the last button on the back of it and then closed it on her mannequin, stepping back to look at her work. 

It was…beautiful. 

It was then, that the shadows came rushing around, draping the shawl she had made out of one of the pelts Azriel had given her over the gown…. dropping a pair of matching shoes on the floor next to the dress.

The gown and slippers, and a delicate-looking, silver-threaded bag, the shawl made out of the fur of a mountain lion…something that even in Prythian was so utterly expensive that people didn’t just simply buy it. 

It...it was beautiful.

It wasn't just a gown. It was an ensemble.

It was perfect. She wanted to see herself. The image was something she ached to see. Imagined herself twirling in a cloud of glitter and lace, hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders and… Gods, she wanted to wear it.

There was a sudden knock at the door. The Morrigan , the shadows supplied, sounding...she didn't even have words to explain how they sounded.

Mor? What did she want from her?

Eira's heart skipped, and she quickly turned towards the door.

“Come in!” Eira called, fiddling with a thin tulle wrap she had originally made to go along with the gown. It was the one piece where she had figured that if she was careful enough and kept the lightning between her fingers very steady…she could burn the edges of the fabric and seal them. No more need for hemming on these tissue-thin fabrics. No need for a mental breakdown.

At least the lightning at her fingertips was useful for something . 

Still, Eira didn't understand what Mor wanted with her. She hadn't spoken to the other woman in a while, and...well, honestly Eira wasn't quite sure what Mor thought of her. Or wanted with her in the first place. 

"I ...I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time," Mor asked as she stepped into her room, taking in the gown still on the mannequin. "Or am I interrupting anything?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Eira assured her. Her work had been finished, and she had been waiting the past hour anyway for Azriel to arrive, so no, she wasn't in the middle of anything important. "...Did you...need something?"

"I wanted to apologise," Mor said quietly. "What I said to you...during that dinner...that you were pretty much useless as far as cauldron made went..." she shuddered as she recounted the words. "It was...out of line. I meant it as a joke, but it wasn't funny."

Eira stilled, stunned into silence for a moment as Mor apologized. It...she hadn't really been expecting an apology for those words, for that comment that Mor had said so dismissively that night…

As far as cauldron-made goes, she is pretty much useless.

It had hurt her. Of course, it had. But she had buried it deep down, where...deep down with everything else that had been said.

But...here she was. Mor was actually, genuinely apologizing.

"I -," Eira started, still stunned. She didn't really know what to say in response - how could she, had she really been expecting Mor to truly apologize for something she had said what felt like ages ago?

Something that might have been dismissed as a throwaway, joking comment, but...it still hurt. Still left her feeling like...like it was true

"Please," Mor said quietly, cutting across Eira’s thoughts. "Please don’t try and claim you weren't hurt. I know I said something awful. I was...I was being thoughtless. And stupid. And...I’m sorry."

Eira bit the inside of her cheek, unable to help the flash of surprise that went over her face.

She...didn't know how to react to Mor apologizing. She was supposed to...accept the apology, of course. But it felt...strange, to actually hear it.

And Mor....she really was sorry. Eira could see it in her face - see that she truly regretted the callous words.

"I...I was hurt," Eira answered honestly after a moment, and she saw a brief wince pass over Mor's face in response. "But...but I..."

No. She shouldn't say it, shouldn't admit that she had already shoved the words away. That she was...used to this. Used to being dismissed, pushed aside, and thought of as useless.

That this was normal for her. It was a little pathetic like that.

It stung, but...she was so used to it, the sting... it had been a familiar sensation.

But...no, Mor looked so contrite, and so...hurt, and all Eira could do was swallow the words.

"I...I accept your apology," Eira managed, and it was the truth. Mor had admitted that it had been wrong, had apologized, and...it was more than she had ever gotten from most people in her life. 

And now the Morrigan looked relieved, as if she had truly thought that there was a chance Eira would have refused to accept the apology."I - thank you," Mor said quietly and then gave her an almost shy little smile. "The dress looks lovely, by the way," she said, her gaze running over the gown clinging to the mannequin.

Eira glanced back at the gown, running a gentle hand over the fabric.

She had worked so hard on it, and...it really had turned out rather lovely.

"Ah - thank you," she murmured back, quietly touched at the praise from the other woman.

Maybe they could all…move on.

Eira returned her shy little smile, and her heart felt...lighter, all of a sudden.

Mor...she had apologized, and they were…moving on.

And when her birthday dawned the next morning…the fact that Elain wasn’t there, wouldn’t be there…it was alright.

Feyre had sent a gift, and Eira had added the hair ribbons she had made months ago to it. 

It was all she allowed herself to think about her twin sister that day. 

The surprise ended up being a raspberry and chocolate cake, and there were far more gifts on the table than she had ever expected, and a few that even made her cry as she opened them - Cassian and Rhys, as it turned out, weren’t completely hopeless with gifts.

A whole stack of books from Nesta, everything from embroidery to romance novels that she was sure to make her blush…To her incredible surprise, sheet music from Cassian. Human sheet music for her harp. She had been playing by ear and memory but with that…she wouldn’t need to anymore. 

Lengths of fabric and ribbons from Feyre, supplies for her craft, and even the incredible spun gold and silver she used for embroidery only sparingly, because getting it was horribly expensive… a glossy, dark wooden sewing box on legs from Rhysand, that she could pull out. 

It was beautiful.

"It should be used," Rhys told her quietly. "It used to be my mother's. But I think she would much rather have it be used than quietly languish away."

The gift rendered her speechless for a moment.

Rhys...had given her a family heirloom, of sorts - a sewing box that had belonged to his own mother. Because....he thought that it should be used.

Not only was it beautiful, but the simple act of giving it...it was a gesture that spoke volumes. Eira traced a hand over the polished surface of the box, running trembling fingertips over the intricate designs that had been carved into the wood.

"You should keep it in the family," she protested. He should keep it...maybe if Feyre and him ever had a daughter…

"It will be in the family. You are family," Rhys said with a smile, and for a moment, she wondered if she would cry.

He considered her family, and - it was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes to hear him say that. "We are all family here, Eira," he assured her, giving her a wink as he added. "And I think my mother would much prefer for the box to be well and truly filled with supplies. So...I expect it to be covered in threads and needles and other things by the time this year is over."

She gave a little watery laugh at his words, as she nodded.

His mother...Rhys’ mother...she would want it to be filled to the brim, wouldn’t she?

She would want the box to be used, not to languish quietly the same way it had for who knew how long.

“I promise you, I will fill every spare inch of it,” Eira vowed. 

"Good," Rhys said, looking quite satisfied as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "Now open the gift from Mor. I'm afraid Cassian and I had to supervise to make sure she didn't get you something truly appalling."

She laughed wetly but did unwrap Mor's gift, which turned out to be a very innocent handbag, that she actually quite liked. But even with all of these gifts unwrapped, a small pile of wrapping paper behind her...there still was a mountain left.

"From whom are the rest of the gifts?" Mor wondered.

“Oh, I have an idea,” Azriel said darkly.

It made her jump, when the shadows gleefully announced Happy Birthday!

Eira's head snapped sideways, blinking in the direction of where they were flickering around Azriel.

For a moment, Eira felt a little bewildered, as she took in the massive pile of gifts that were left, and turned, looking back at Azriel. The sheer number of the gifts...and she could tell, from the looks on the other's faces, that they weren’t expecting the amount either.

She glanced back at Azriel and the shadows as they flickered and twined around him, nearly gleefully. "What..." she managed weakly. "What are all of these...?"

Gifts! they said proudly. We got you gifts too!

She froze, and then her jaw dropped.

But - there were...there were so many, and the shadows...they had gotten her gifts, the same way everybody else had and -

She took in the huge pile of them, her eyes wide as her heart gave a pang at the sheer size of the little mountain.

They hadn’t just gotten her a single gift.

They had....gotten her dozens.

"I see that," she said weakly. "Are you sure you needed to buy that many?"

They seemed a mixture of offended and insulted that she would even question their decision, which...she probably should have expected, given that they had been rather...intense about the gifts. Of course, they would take offence to her not wanting gifts.

Azriel rolled his eyes a bit at the response, and chuckled. "They were very...specific about the amount, sweetheart," he murmured dryly. "I stopped them after this, they wanted to get even more," he admitted with a sigh.

"Of course they did," she said faintly, her eyes wide as she looked at the pile again.

Of course, they wanted even more than this.

They had been adamant about this, and...and… There had to almost be two dozen wrapped packages, maybe more.

"Well, unwrap them!" Nesta demanded.

She knew better than to argue with her oldest sister, so she did. 

Eira didn’t know what was more shocking…the three boxes of jewellery she gained, one of them with a necklace that featured sapphires the size of chicken eggs…Or maybe the four new dresses, all of them more expensive and luxurious than she had ever imagined.

Or the entire chest of craft supplies –thread, fabric of all colors, needles to match, scissors, pins, needles, beads, sequins, and other little decorations that almost had her head swimming just looking at.

As it was, she was rendered so speechless that even Nesta seemed rather...shocked at the jewellery, eyeing one of the bracelets that were nearly as thick as Eira’s wrist and made of thick, solid white gold.

"Bloody hell..." Cassian mumbled, as Eira unwrapped box after box, and it felt like the pile just kept on going.

Some of it was practical - new scissors, new thimbles, the sort of things that were...necessary. Other pieces...the jewellery, the dresses, the sheer amount of craft supplies... had her feeling a little stunned.

"How often do they play the lottery again?" she asked Azriel weakly, making him laugh when she finally unwrapped the last piece.

"They had 500 years, to amass a fortune," he said drily. "And never really anybody to spend it on."

She couldn’t help but laugh too, as he reminded her of that very relevant fact.

500 years...and they had never had someone they wanted to spend on.

"Thank you," she told them earnestly. "But next year, you could just buy me...one or two things and not...three dozen."

They pouted, but...she was pretty sure she could actually convince them to not get quite as many gifts next year. Just...not so many.

She was sure she would have plenty left over for the following hundred years after all.

"It does make my gift maybe pale in comparison," Azriel said drily, as he carefully lifted a box onto her lap. "Happy Birthday, Eira."

She huffed at him. "Don't be silly, I know I’m going to love whatever you give me," she assured him quietly, as she carefully peeled away the wrapping paper.

A moment later, she jumped in surprise at the little mrrrp that came from the box.

She froze, her heart leaping into her throat, and she was about to ask what had just made that little noise when she suddenly heard a soft purring sound.

For a moment, she just...stared down at the box, before glancing up at Azriel for confirmation.

"She missed you," he just said softly. "My mother felt like it was very unfair to keep her when she seemed to have picked her person already."

Her eyes went wide, as it sank in what was in the box.

Azriel’s mother’s kitten. The white one that she hadn’t seen since it had clung to her so desperately For a moment, she just...sat there, speechless, before she looked up at Azriel, eyes wide.

She reached down, and gently lifted the fluffy white ball of fur from the box, holding it carefully in her hands.

The kitten... looked up at her with those wide blue eyes and mewed again.

And then it...climbed into her lap, curling up, and purring contentedly.

She was nearly shaking as she gently stroked its soft fur.

The little kitten...it was even more beautiful than she remembered, its fur as soft as the silk of one of her new dresses. It nuzzled itself against her, and then its little eyes slowly drifted shut as it began to fall asleep. She...she didn’t know what to say, still stroking the soft, soft fur as the little ball of fluff in her lap purred itself to sleep.

She...loved it.

And the fact that it fell asleep so easily in her lap as if Eira was the only option it would ever accept… made her tear up a bit.

She turned in her chair to face Azriel, still stroking the little kitten in her lap.

"I..." her voice caught in her throat, overcome with emotion as she continued to stroke the impossibly soft fur. "I love...I love her," she managed the tears that had threatened to fall now running down her cheeks.

Azriel chuckled a little, before reaching out to brush a few of the tears away with his thumb.

"I know you do," he murmured softly, and gently stroked the little kitten's ears, which flicked away at the touch, even as she continued to sleep.

Eira sat there for a moment in silence, just...stroking the little white ball of fluff in her lap.

Even in her sleep, the kitten had curled into a perfect little ball, and its soft purring...it was one of the most soothing sounds she had ever heard, she was pretty sure.

It was the best birthday she ever had

"Thank you," she told Azriel later that evening as she walked him to the door of the River House. It had quieted down, Nesta and Cassian disappearing to the House of Wind, where Azriel would follow, Rhys and Feyre upstairs with Nyx.

Azriel paused at the door, leaning against the frame, and a soft smile appeared on his face.

The white kitten was fast asleep in her arms, as she smiled up at him happily.

"You’re welcome, sweetheart," he whispered and reached out to brush a few strands of hair back from her face. "Did you get everything you wished for?" he asked her softly

She nodded at his question, as she stroked the soft, impossibly soft fur of the sleeping kitten in her arms. She had more than she had ever dreamed of asking for.

She had clothes, a treasure trove of fabric and thread and crafts supplies, that little ball of fluff in her arms...and she had Azriel.

“Everything, and more,” she whispered back. "Though there is one thing..."

He raised a brow, and his lips twitched faintly.

“One thing?” he echoed, his voice still soft, as she shifted the napping kitten a little in her arms. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

She shifted a little, as she leaned on the door frame herself, careful not to wake the little ball of fluff.

A faint blush appeared on her face. “Could...could I have a kiss?” she asked with a shy smile, her voice quiet.

The request made his eyes go wide, and darken...

And then he leaned down, closing the distance between them easily, the Shadows dancing around them as he bent his head down to gently kiss her.

She melted against him, her eyes drifting shut, and for a moment, she was pretty sure her heart nearly stopped.

One of his hands came up to cup her chin, gently tilting her head up just a bit, and her knees went weak.

He kissed her softly, gently, like she was the most priceless thing he had ever touched.

Her heart gave a little pang in her chest at that, his lips moving gently against hers, as he cradled her jaw in his hand, his calloused fingertips tracing against the skin of her throat.

“Happy Birthday, Eira.”

[silver-tangent]

You know… the bait and switch of Scott Pilgrim takes off was needed.

Scott Pilgrim was meant to be a subversion of tropes, and it got picked up by a bunch of nice guys, myself included at one point, who turned it into their anthem.

The original comic was about Everyman Scott Pilgrim having to win a woman by fighting her evil exes, and on the surface that’s what it was. Between the fanbase and the movie, that’s as shallow as anyone goes…

Except that Scott didn’t win her by defeating her evil exes. Scott was troubled and problematic. In the end he wasn’t abusive but he was neglectful and took Ramona for granted to the point that her abusive and manipulative ex managed to convince her to go back to him… mostly out of fear of what would happen to dumb, hapless, Scott.

Scott was an exceptional fighter in his videogame world… he beat like… one of the seven. The rest of the time he was saved by complete dumb luck, by his friends, and by Ramona.

The entire point was slowly realizing how silly the situation was, and how he wasn’t a white knight… he was set up to be a white knight only to knock that idea down and have Ramona and friends help him.

They learned, they grew, they were both toxic and broken people for different reasons, Scott through ignorance and a lack of experience and Ramona through trauma and abusive relationships…

And in the comic… they don’t exactly break up but she ghosts him. Horribly… and he ends up fighting Gideon anyway, and rescuing her… by gaining the Power of Understanding. That’s right, not self-respect. Understanding…

And the last page they decide to try again, but we don’t know what that means… everyone moves on to a better place in their lives, a lot of them move on from Scott and Ramona romantically… and Scott and Ramona get to just… see where this goes…

and that’s a sweet note to end on. Two people who didn’t know how to be healthy partners growing up, and timidly trying it all over, with no confirmation of how it works.

Movie? Movie came out before book 6, audiences didn’t like the ending where Scott chases after Ramona (differently from the books like he literally chases after her) so Scott earns the power of self respect, and gets back with Knives…

And intended or not, it just sets up this idea that Ramona was the bad guy. Ramona, the abuse victim, was friend-zoning Scott; the nice guy…

And for a decade, the fandom has kinda devolved into that mentality; Scott Pilgrim is the savior of the nice guys. Ramona is the unobtainable girl. Knives is the victim…

O’Malley’s original point, that relationships are hard and trauma is hard, and nobody can do it alone… lost.

To the point that we are so deep in this nice guy culture that making a sequel disguised as a reboot (will not spoil more) was necessary. He had to make the point more obvious, that the story was always about Ramona working through her relationship trauma… Scott was the house husband. He was always meant to be.

Everyone I see complaining about the twist… does not get the point of the comics… and I’ve been bitching about the movie for more than a decade so I’m sorry… it’s not a *bad* movie… but it’s clear most of the fanbase only watched the movie. And it’s clear most of the people complaining are Gideon in denial… no… Future Scott in denial… which is in fact the point.

[a-mint-bear]

Your One and Only

Male Yandere x Reader

He begged you to make him yours, but when he feels his status as your one and only is threatened, he wants a reminder.

Sequel to "Make Me Yours"

Next Jacob story "Taking Care of Him"

[content warning: slightly pretty suggestive stuff near the end]

His name was Jacob.

It was a bit of a funny situation, learning his name only after he'd become your... boyfriend? Lover? You really didn't know what labels to use in this situation, or how any of this was "supposed" to work. But you were enjoying your time together, despite the... odd and intense way the relationship began.

Jacob wanted to move in with you pretty much right off the bat, but it was all a bit too much to jump right into. You would be lying if you said it wasn't tempting...

He really was a near-perfect fit for you.

He was super domestic. He loved cooking for you and all his dishes were amazing. He was a bit of a neat freak, so sometimes when you took your eyes off him, he tidied up your place without you asking. Not that you left it super messy, but he seemed like perfect househusband material.

In public, he was super assertive. He stood up for you and protected you from average jerks and actual threats when you were out together. He took charge and it made you feel oddly loved. Like you were the most important thing in his life.

In private, he was still that man on his knees in the park. He was dedicated, completely and utterly yours... He loved to wear that collar when the two of you were alone, although you had to beg him not to wear it out in public. The thought of it did give you a thrill, though you'd never admit it to him. But because of all that, he started wearing more thick turtleneck sweaters.

Well, for that, and for... other reasons. You were embarrassed of how much he liked to show off your... handiwork.

He was very clingy, and he got jealous really easily, but it wasn't really a dealbreaker for you. You liked the feeling it gave you of being wanted, appreciated, even loved. It made you a tiny bit uncomfortable sometimes due to how new the relationship was, Jacob was very intense with his feelings, but with every day together it got easier to appreciate the weird new relationship you were in.

He was attentive, he loved spoiling you and getting you little things when you were having a bad day. Or a good day. Even a completely neutral day. You actually had to tell him to tone it down a little, as much as you liked it, because your place was small and you didn't have a ton of extra space. His compromise was to start getting you food and snacks more often instead, and it worked out just perfectly.

When a bouquet of a dozen roses got delivered to your office, you got a good razzing from your coworkers but you ignored them. There was no note or card, but it wasn't a stretch to think it was from Jacob. He'd sent other things to your job before, like lunch when you planned to eat out someplace or your favorite coffee order when you had an early morning. It was nice of him, you thought to yourself with a dumb smile on your face.

When you got home, you sent him a quick text.

You watched the typing ellipses appear and disappear, then reappear only to blink out of existence and then, nothing.

He'd never dropped off like that before, but you didn't think much of it. It wasn't until he showed up to your place not even ten minutes later that you started to wonder if something was up.

You opened the door for him. It wasn't uncommon for him to come over pretty much every other day (after you'd talked him down from every day) so you were happy to see him. But he had a weird look on his face.

Before you could ask him what was up, you followed his line of sight to the bouquet in a vase on the kitchen windowsill.

You ask him what's wrong, and his eyes snapped back to yours, like he was jolted out of his thoughts.

"Nothing, I... I'm just happy that you... like them."

The smile seemed a tiny bit strained, but he was back to his usual puppy dog demeanor in no time. He was extra attentive, ordering your favorite takeout, but getting it delivered instead of running out to get it or letting you go get it. He clung to you all night, but it was nice, in a way.

You were rinsing the dishes real quick before you continued binging the series you'd been watching together lately. But when you were drying your hands, Jacob came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You laughed, asking him if he was feeling better, but he just pulled you in closer. You could feel his collar pressing into your neck. His breath was hot, tickling your neck as he mumbled his words of devotion against your skin.

"You're so... perfect." He nuzzled into your neck. "I'm so lucky you let me in... that you let me be yours. Just... I promise I'll be good... I just want to be yours. Please, don't... Don't look at anyone else."

This wasn't his usual lovesick talk. You turned in his grasp to hold his face in your hands. You smiled, telling him that he was yours. He melted, leaning into your touch like he needed it more than everything... Needed you more than anything.

"I'm yours... " he repeated it to himself like a mantra, like it was grounding him to that moment. He needed the reassurance that day, for some reason, but you didn't think much of it.

That same excitement, that overwhelming need to control him, to claim him... it was still just as intoxicating as the day he "proposed". You don't think you could ever get tired of it.

. . .

Jacob had stayed the night, and you'd fallen asleep in his arms. You don't know how long you'd been lying there together before you could just feel that you were half-awake, but too tired to even open your eyes. You just nuzzled into his chest as you tried to drift off again.

You could feel him gently working his fingers into your hair, it felt like heaven, and it got a happy little sigh out of you.

"I've wanted this for so long..." he whispered into the calm of your dark bedroom. He must've thought you were sound asleep. "If someone thinks they can take you away from me..."

He kissed the top of your head, lingering for a moment to breathe you in.

"...I'll rip their fucking throat out."

You felt... startled? Confused? But it all felt so fuzzy, like the edge of a dream you could barely hold on to. He said it so calmly, like it was just another sweet nothing whispered in your ear. A promise to you he would make sure to keep.

You slipped back into a dreamless sleep, unsure of what was real.

. . .

Jacob made the two of you breakfast, just like every time he stayed the night. But the whole time you ate he was unusually quiet, his gaze flicking over to the vase of roses on the kitchen windowsill.

You could tell this was getting to him, for some reason. Maybe it was best to just get rid of the bouquet and ask him what he was so worked up about.

When he was washing the dishes, you went to get up from your chair and grab them, wanting to at least put them in another room while the two of you had a talk. But you didn't get the chance.

His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, but he wasn't looking at you. He was staring at the flowers with a burning hate you'd never seen a man have for a plant. His grip got tighter until you hissed behind your teeth, trying to wrench your arm away.

He snapped out of whatever the hell that was, fussing over you.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- I-I just..."

This was getting weird and more than a little... off. You told him it was getting late into the morning, didn't he need to get to work soon?

That sent him spiraling.

"No no no... please don't send me away..." he whispered. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he grabbed your shoulders.

"I'm sorry... I'm still your good boy! Please!" His eyes were wide, almost teary as fell to his knees at your feet, his hands in yours. "Please just... look at me! Only me! I can't..."

You asked him what he was talking about, trying to calm him down. It wasn't working.

"You thought those were from me..." He was practically shaking now, but he almost seemed... angry? You blanked for a second at his words, the meaning behind them not sticking long enough to upset him further. "I mean, roses? Really?? You think I don't know your favorite flower? That I'd give you that garbage?? No, no... I know you so much better than that."

It was true that there were flowers you liked more than roses, but you didn't hate them. But if Jacob didn't send you the flowers, who did?

"Someone wants you... they wanna take you away from me... I just got to be yours! I can't... I can't-"

With a shaky sigh, barely holding himself together, he laid his head on your legs.

"I can't lose you... Don't throw me away..."

Nudging your knees apart, he planted soft, tender kisses trailing up your inner thigh. The drastic swing of competing emotions left you more than a little flustered. A hand on top of his head, you were trying to decide whether to push him off to talk this through or tell him to keep going.

"They can't make you feel good, not like I can... I want to show you my love... my devotion..."

Without warning, you felt the dull, throbbing sting of a bite. You yelped, grabbing him by his hair and yanking him back. But all that did was wind him up more, a strangled, needy moan tearing from his throat. His face was a blushing mess, tongue out playfully like his mind was all but fading.

"Hurt me, p-punish me..." he grinned, looking straight into your eyes. "Make me forget everything else but you..."

You yanked him up by his collar and pushed him to the floor, straddling him. The ideas of wanting to fluster him and wanting to get back at him for his little stunt clashing away in your head. You chose good compromise of biting him back, marking up his shoulder as he gasped, letting out excited little "yes"s under his breath.

"Y-yes, fuck yes... mark me up..." He was practically panting now, he was so worked up you could swear you could hear his heartbeat, or maybe it was yours. He tried to sit up, to get closer. "Show everyone I belong to you..."

You shoved him back flat to the floor again, holding him in place with a hand pressed to his chest. The both of you knew he was strong enough to get free with no problem, but he knew that if he did, you'd stop. You kissed him just under his jawline, so tantalizingly close, you knew it was torture for him.

"Please please please..." he whined, sounding so wonderfully needy and desperate. "Kiss me. I'm your good boy. Make me need you so much I can't think straight."

You told him that he wasn't off the hook yet, and he couldn't help but feel so wanted, so loved. He really was yours, and you could do anything you wanted to him.

"Teach me I belong to you, sweetheart." he bit his lip, pushing his luck and grinding his hips up into you. "Fucking ruin me..."

. . .

Jacob clocked into work late that day, but he was more than happy to join his virtual meeting with a shirt cut lower than his usual turtlenecks, showing off his new marks to the coworkers. He pretended he didn't realize any of them were visible. He wanted them to see. What was the point of you marking him up if he couldn't show it off from time to time? Just enough to chase off anyone dumb enough to think about trying to flirt with him.

He still didn't know who'd sent you those goddamn roses, but he had calmed down, for now. He didn't want to do anything to make you hate him. Whoever it was, they were safe for another day.

-----------------------------------------------

i hope y'all like this one, i don't think i'll be bold enough to post anything more graphic than that anytime soon, lol

Jacob is his name, being your good boy is his favorite game 🩵

im in the (very slow) process of moving so my brain has been fried between packing, apartment hunting and a few days of video games until 3 am to help pass the time. i have one speed for hobbies lol

can you tell that my adhd meds are out of stock? now im writing to pass the time and it feels a lot more productive than Fallout 4 into the wee hours

i think i will post a poll soon so yous guys can vote for the next story i write. but my inbox is always open for suggestions too. tho you should see the notes in my phone, its like 11 different ideas lol

[belqva]

₊˚⊹౨ THE MORNING (R.C.) ৎ ₊˚⊹

warnings: drugs, alcohol, toxic friends, intoxication, language, dealing, one mention of reader skipping meals

summary: At a wild party, you confront a tense reunion with Rafe Cameron, your best friends ex, while reluctantly buying drugs for a friend. The events of the night leave you more confused than ever.

pairing: rafe cameron x female!reader

word count: 1.6k

a/n: I definitely wanted this to be longer but oh what can I do 😔🖐️ it’s becoming a habit of mine to write fics and leave them on a cliffhanger lol sorry !! I feel like it gives me motivation that I’ll write a sequel in the future yk? Anyway the reader is in a really toxic female friend group and two of the girls are named Taylor and Anya but you can just ignore that if u want to <33 as always I hope u enjoy!!🤍

The overwhelming smell of weed, alcohol, and expensive, overly lavish perfume filled the dimly lit room of the massive mansion hosting another one of the infamous Friday night parties. A party isn’t a party without booze and molly, right? Some spoiled rich kid was celebrating nothing in particular, just throwing a party because they could. The entire house was packed with girls in their skimpiest outfits and boys flaunting wristwatches that probably cost more than your monthly salary. You could barely hear yourself think as loud trap music pounded over the constant chatter and drunken shouting. The dim house flickered with occasional strobe lights, the only real illumination being from the ceiling light, modified to shift between dark blue and red.

It wasn’t really your scene. You weren’t a party animal or particularly popular. You hovered somewhere between the Pogue and Kook worlds. Your family wasn’t exactly poor, but they didn’t have enough money to land you the "full Kook" status either. However, most of your friends were full-on Kooks—girls who got Range Rovers for their sixteenth birthdays. You had known them since kindergarten, and despite your differences, you’d tagged along with them throughout middle and high school. You fit in well enough, thanks to your natural looks and careful attention to fashion—even if it meant skipping meals to buy a nice dress.

So here you were, like many Friday nights before, out with the same group of girls. Most of them were either drunk, high, or both. The only one who wasn’t fully wasted was Anya. She was the closest thing your group had to a leader and the main reason you hadn’t been kicked out of their tight-knit circle. Anya was smart and stunningly gorgeous, with her silky blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She was effortlessly perfect in a way that made everyone want to be her. And, as you’d noticed tonight, she was completely off her game.

She sat beside you on the expensive beige couch, her mood noticeably different from usual. She’d had a few shots and maybe smoked a little, but nothing more—uncharacteristic for her at a party like this. Concern tugged at you, and you leaned toward her.

"Is everything okay, Ani?" you asked, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders and resting your chin on her.

She shrugged, her icy blue eyes avoiding yours. Anya was wearing a pink tube top, a mini leather skirt, and platform heels—an outfit far too gorgeous for a casual party. It was obvious she was dressing to impress someone. You knew her well enough to see that something was wrong.

"Come on, tell me," you pressed, trying to lighten the mood. "Future Anya will be mad if I don’t cheer you up because, as you’d say, 'we only have a limited number of Friday nights in our short youth.'"

Anya cracked a small smile. "Yeah, you’re right," she said softly, "she would be mad."

"So, what’s going on?" you asked again. "You can tell me. I won’t say anything to the others."

She hesitated, fidgeting with her fingers. You watched her closely, sensing her inner turmoil. Finally, she sighed. "Did you see who's selling the sugar tonight?" she asked quietly, referring to the drugs.

You shook your head. "No, I haven’t really walked around much." You felt uneasy. The last thing you wanted to get involved in was drugs, even if most of your friends were on a first-name basis with dealers.

Anya bit her lip. "It’s Rafe."

Your heart skipped a beat. Rafe Cameron. The name brought back a flood of memories. He was the golden boy, the heartbreaker, and for a while, he was Anya’s. They had dated for a few months during senior year, and she had been head over heels for him. But Rafe had shattered her heart, and she had never fully recovered. Now it made sense why she was acting out of character tonight.

"Rafe’s here?" you asked, not sure how to feel about the revelation.

Before Anya could answer, Taylor—one of the drunker members of your group—stumbled over and collapsed into your lap, giggling uncontrollably. You caught her before she fell completely, but the interruption was enough to break the moment between you and Anya.

Anya’s expression hardened immediately, her walls going back up. "Great," she muttered under her breath, getting up from the couch abruptly. "I’m going to get a drink."

"Anya—" you started, but she was already weaving through the crowd.

Taylor, oblivious to the tension, grinned up at you. "Why so serious, babe?" she slurred, patting your cheek playfully. "Come on, have some fun!"

You sighed, helping her sit up properly. "Maybe later," you mumbled. Your mind was still on Anya, on Rafe. You couldn’t just let it go. If he was the one dealing tonight, no wonder Anya was upset.

As if reading your mind, Taylor handed you a crumpled hundred-dollar bill. "Can you grab something for me? He won’t sell to me anymore, I’ve been back too many times."

Normally, you would’ve refused. But this was your chance to figure out what was really going on. "Yeah, sure," you said, standing up.

"Really? You?" Taylor blinked, surprised at your sudden willingness. "Well, okay! Don’t get lost, babe," she teased, giving you a playful shove.

Ignoring her, you made your way through the crowd toward the back of the mansion where the drug deals usually went down. Your heart pounded in your chest as you neared the area. And then, there he was — Rafe Cameron.

Rafe was seated at a table surrounded by his usual entourage. His shirt was crisp and white, his hair neatly shaved, and he looked more muscular than you remembered. He had a dark, commanding presence, the kind that made it hard to look away. He was cutting lines of powder, expertly dividing them into neat little baggies.

You swallowed hard, your nerves on edge. This was a bad idea, but there was no turning back now.

As you approached the table, Rafe’s sharp blue eyes locked onto you, freezing you in place. He raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting you.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was cold, and for a moment, you wished you could disappear.

"I—uh—I’m here to buy," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the music.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, scanning you from head to toe. You felt vulnerable under his gaze, like he could see straight through you. After a tense moment, he leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Since when do you do this shit?" he asked, his tone dripping with skepticism.

"I don’t," you blurted. "It’s not for me. One of my friends asked me to—"

Rafe cut you off, holding up a hand. "Let me guess. Taylor?"

You nodded, feeling even more ridiculous. Why was he making this so hard?

Rafe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Of course. Always sending someone else to do her dirty work." He leaned forward, his eyes still trained on you. "You shouldn’t be mixed up in this, Y/N."

His use of your name surprised you. You hadn’t thought he even knew who you were. "I—I’m not. I’m just doing a favor," you muttered.

Rafe reached for the hundred-dollar bill you were holding out, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief second. His touch was electric, sending a jolt through you that you weren’t expecting.

"Here’s the thing," Rafe said, his voice low and dangerous. "I don’t want to see you coming back here again. Got it?"

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. "What?"

Rafe leaned in closer, his gaze piercing. "This isn’t your scene. You don’t belong here, and trust me, you don’t want to get involved with people like me. Stay away from this stuff, Y/N."

You didn’t know how to respond. There was something unsettling about the way he was looking at you, something that made your pulse race for reasons you couldn’t explain. Was he really concerned about you? Or was this some twisted game he was playing?

Before you could say anything else, he handed you the tiny baggies. "Take this to Taylor. And remember what I said."

You nodded quickly, snatching the drugs and turning on your heel, eager to escape the intensity of his gaze. As you weaved your way back through the crowd, your mind was racing. What had just happened? Why had Rafe Cameron, of all people, decided to lecture you? And why did it feel like he cared?

Back at the couch, Taylor greeted you with a sloppy grin, grabbing the drugs from your hand. "You’re the best!" she slurred, not noticing the dazed look on your face.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about Rafe. The way he had looked at you, the way his voice had dropped to a low, dangerous whisper—it all left you feeling more confused than ever. You shouldn’t care about him. He was trouble, the kind of trouble you had no business getting involved with.

Yet, deep down, you knew this wasn’t the last time you’d find yourself in front of Rafe Cameron.

-

The night drew on, but you couldn’t shake the encounter with Rafe. His words echoed in your mind, conflicting emotions pulling at you. You should have been worried about Anya, about her unresolved feelings for him, but your thoughts kept circling back to his piercing gaze, the way he warned you. It was almost as if he had seen you, really seen you, beyond just another party girl.

And that was dangerous.

© COPYRIGHT BELQVA 2024

SHARING THIS, ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS OR A TRANSLATION OF THEM WITHOUT CONSENT ON THIS OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN !!!

THE PLOT OF OUTER BANKS OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS, EXCEPT FOR THE ONES CREATED BY ME, DO NOT BELONG TO ME THIS IS JUST A WORK OF FANFICTION !!!

tags:

[pretzel-box]

Might I humbly request more streamer au Sebastian?? I don't have a specific prompt so honestly do whatever you'd like!

SEQUEL TO THE STREAMER AU

PART 1 HERE

Tags: Doubt, Comedy, Teasing, Slightly Fluff, Streamer AU

Words: 1,6k

You glanced at the message on your screen, your eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

“Jellybeanie_?”

Even though it was just a jumble of words on the flat screen, you could almost hear the amusement behind the way Solace wrote your username. It was a name that carried a bit of a past, a digital footprint that had followed you through your early streaming days. Your father had given you the nickname "Jellybeanie" when you were young, and it stuck, especially during your awkward teenage years when you thought beanies were the pinnacle of cool fashion. There was a bit of irony there, considering the sheer volume of cringe it represented. You had done everything to erase that phase from existence, deleting your weird selfies, throwing the beanies out and pretending you’re too cool for silly headwear—except for the username. Somehow, it had become part of your identity, both endearing and a little bit embarrassing.

"Don't judge it, Shoelaced_Seb42," you shot back with a grin, your fingers flying over the keyboard as the heat of the moment pulled you in. You could only imagine what kind of story was behind his own name. Maybe it was a wordplay with “shoelace” and “Solace,” but “Seb42”? That was anyone’s guess. There had to be a story there, too—everyone had one.

His reply came almost instantly. “Careful, doll. I don't want to reveal my edgelord side in front of a cute bean like you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, something warm and annoyingly familiar. Damn him for knowing exactly how to get under your skin—and damn you for liking

While you had no problem flirting with Solace during your nightly gaming streams, your real-life roommate was a different story entirely. It was a cruel twist of fate, really. Your fans always talked about how well you and Solace—a famous streamer with a massive following—got along. They called you "the perfect duo," and more than a few shipped you two. They didn't know the irony of the situation. Because in reality, when you weren't "Jellybeanie_", there was no Pressured_Solace, just Sebastian.

The Sebastian who would leave his empty coffee mugs all over the apartment. The Sebastian who would blast his music at ungodly hours, regardless of how many times you'd told him you needed quiet for your recordings. The Sebastian who seemed to have made it his life mission to be the most insufferable person you'd ever met.

You had moved into this apartment months ago, both of you, lured by the promise of a prime location and cheap rent—only to discover that you couldn't go five minutes without bickering over something mundane. The Wi-Fi. The thermostat. The last of the milk.

"Seriously, Sebastian," you muttered under your breath the next morning after your midnight chat with Solace, staring at the empty carton of milk your roommate left in the fridge. "Is it too much to ask for you to throw this out? Or better yet, buy more?"

Sebastian sauntered into the kitchen, tousled black hair sticking up at odd angles, a lazy grin on his face. "Morning to you too, sunshine," he said, ignoring your frustration completely. He tossed his phone onto the counter and grabbed a can of energy drink from the pantry. "Did you see my note?"

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. "Yeah, I saw it. It was crumpled up in the trash. Nice touch."

He just smirked, leaning back against the counter as he cracked open the can. "You know, I think you secretly love our little banter," he said, taking a sip and watching you with those infuriatingly bright eyes of his. He was definitely teasing you, his tone wasn't like Solace his…Sebastian was the ungodly opposite, annoying, mean and insufferable.

"Love is a strong word," you shot back, fighting the urge to hit him with the empty milk box. He had this way of getting under your skin, making you react, and he seemed to take endless delight in it.

When night fell and the cameras turned on, it was a different story. As Jelly you felt like you were seeing a different side of life by spending time with Solace. The witty banter, the playful teasing over the text messages—it felt real. More real than the stupid arguments with your roommate over dish duty or who got to use the bathroom first in the mornings.

You’d been doing collaborative streams with Solace for months now. What had started as a random pairing in a popular online game had quickly turned into a regular thing, and your viewers loved it. There was a chemistry there—an undeniable spark that had even you questioning what was real and what was just for show.

And the more you streamed together, the more you found yourself looking forward to those late-night gaming sessions. The way he made you laugh, the way he’d check in to make sure you were okay if things got too intense in-game. There was a kindness to him—a depth that you didn’t see in the Sebastian you shared your living space with.

“So, Jelly,” his voice crackled through your headset, bringing you back to the game at hand. “What’s the plan? You gonna carry us to victory, or should I start writing my will now?”

You chuckled, glancing at the chat as messages flew by. Your viewers were eating this up. “I don’t know, Solace,” you replied, your tone playful. “Maybe I’ll let you die first and then come in for the save. Would make for great content.”

He laughed, a sound that sent a small thrill through you. “Always thinking about the content. That’s why you’re the best.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the compliment, a smile tugging at your lips. Damn him. Why did he have to be so... nice? And why did you have to like it so much?

It was nearly 3 a.m. by the time your stream ended. You stretched, feeling the fatigue settle into your bones. As you stepped out of your room, you were startled to find Sebastian in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge.

He looked up as you entered, a frown on his face. “Late night?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, too tired to muster up a proper retort. “Like you’re one to talk,” you muttered, grabbing a water bottle from the counter.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence, the kind that seemed to fill every corner of the small apartment. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Do you ever… wonder what your online friends are like in real life?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. “I mean, it’s easy to get along with someone when you’re just a username and a voice on a screen. But in real life… things are different.”

You studied him for a moment, unsure of where this was coming from. “Yeah,” you said slowly. “I guess you’re right. People can be… different.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the fridge. “Anyway, good night,” he said over his shoulder as he grabbed a snack and headed back to his room.

“Good night,” you replied, watching him go. You couldn’t help but wonder about the sudden shift in his demeanor. The whole conversation was just a giant question mark and you didn't understand where the sudden question came from.

A week passed, and you couldn't stop thinking about that night in the kitchen. Your streams with Solace were becoming more frequent, and with every passing game, you felt that connection deepening. It was confusing. Especially after Sebastian's words from last week, you actually don't know much about Solace. What he looks like, what his job is, if he has a partner…God he could be a 65 year old man named Josh that drives a truck and eats Hamburgers every day for lunch. He could be anyone.

And then, one fateful night, everything changed.

You were streaming a new co-op game with Solace when a message popped up in the chat from a mutual fan. “Wouldn’t it be crazy if Jelly and Seb were roommates IRL?”

You laughed it off, typing a quick response. “Yeah, imagine that chaos!”

Seb responded with a chuckle, “We’d probably drive each other insane.”

But the thought lingered. Your eyes drifted over to his username again—Pressured_Solace. You hated the feeling of having a crush on someone who was out of reach, someone who had not a face and not a real name. And it crushed you not to know if you would ever know more about him. Wondering if all the flirting and the jokes were just a facade for the streams or if he actually tries to get close to you.

Your sudden silence must have been noticeable because Solace his voice came through your headset, concerned. “Jelly? You okay?”

You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, I… I just thought of something.”

“Like what?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, too quickly. “Just… something funny. I'll tell you later.”

But as you ended the stream, you knew there was no way you were going to let this go. Not without finding out the truth behind Solace.

The stream ended, the microphone turned off and you leaned back into your chair, fumbling with the cables of your headphones.

“Solace?” Your fingers moved on the glowing keyboard, texting him on discord. The most healthy thing was confrontation instead of confusion and you collected your courage to ask him for a picture.

“What's up, Jellybeanie!~”

“Can I get a picture?” It didn't take long till he replied with a spoiler-covered picture, adding a secretive emoji that holds a finger in front of their mouth. Your heart skips a beat, anxiety and excitement rushing through your mind and you click on the image with shaky hands.

It was a fish. He trolled you.

“SOLACE!”

“ALR ALR CHILL BEANIE!1!1”

He send another picture.

And in a single moment, it hit you hard.

And you screamed.

[ash-says]

Tips on how to dodge personal questions in a Professional Setting:

I know. I know. I said I will be on a break and I still stand by that but it was difficult to throw away the sudden surge of motivation so here I am.

I received a request to make a post on this long back so here is your girl serving it. Honestly I am not much of an expert at it either but I have some ways that work sometimes so here goes nothing.

1) Do not give in to the pressure.

Literally that's the starting point. Whenever someone asks us a personal question we feel obligated at some level to answer because of xyz reasons. That's why we first need to escape the pressure of answering.

2) Straightforwardly and Politely state I am not comfortable answering that.

The bulletproof method. No explanation needed.

3) If you are in a situation where the person is being really nosy and can't take a no for an answer. Try saying to them,"I don't understand how it's relevant to our topic of discussion."

4) If you are not in a position to decline at all which happens when the person asking the question is of higher authority and has influence in this situation give vague answers that lead nowhere.

Example: So are you dating anyone?

It's tough to say in particular you know the dating scene nowadays it's difficult to put a name on anything.

Or what do you do on your weekends?

Nothing just the usuals. I am an office worker after all.

This creates a sense of familiarity with the crowd but at the same time does not reveal anything in precision.

5) Turn the topic on them. One of the smartest things you can do is make them the central focus. People love to talk about themselves so it works most of the time until you come across someone truly smart.

Example: hey how's the new office? Are you liking it here?

Ans: Well I am still getting used to the environment here. What about you? How long have you been working here?

6) Another thing you can do is dance around the topic but not on the topic. You remember how you used to write a 1 mark question for 5 marks exactly like that. Tell the prequel and sequel of the question but never answer the exact question.

7) This one is kinda rude I won't suggest doing it around randomly but if you have been in the corporate space for sometime you would know that there are some people who like to ask things only to belittle you or spread gossip or to be mean. The jealous ones that don't have a life of their own.

In case they ask something or say something rude or cross a boundary just start singing a song or change the topic completely. Don't acknowledge anything they say and continue with your random talks or humming. Trust me it's the easiest way to get rid of them.

Still some are persistent and will try to get an answer. Simply say it's not worth discussing. It's boring.

8) Apart from that there are subtle things you can do which can create a persona that conveys you are not open towards personal questions. You can do it by simply detaching yourself whenever someone starts talking about their personal lives. Don't be a participant or a listener. It gives a que you are not looking to bond personally and many other similar things.

9) If you are truly in a toxic work culture where your colleagues seem to constantly bug and bully you to share personal stuff (happened with me in my previous workplace) Firmly state,"I come here to work not to make personal relations."

10) Ignore.

I hope it helps even a little there's not much we can do without offending the other person but we can be gentle and polite in our tone and gesture that's the only way.

That's all for today's show on ash-says. Stay tuned for more illegal tricks and explosive opinions.

[leighsartworks216]

The Mission

Sylus x gn!Reader

The ending feels a little meh BUT I'm gonna use it to lead into the next fic in the series. You'll see. Also there are kids screaming outside????? I'm so confused rn

This is a sequel primarily to Fallen Angel, but it also references things in Love Me, That's All I Ask Of You

Warnings: strip clubs, violence, blood, injury, stalking, forehead kisses, shapeshifting, MC and Sylus acting like siblings

Word Count: 2,625

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Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

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The mission is deceptively simple: Little Miss Hunter will pose as a waitress in one of Sylus’s clubs, working undercover to uncover the ex-boyfriend of one of the dancers. As soon as the club’s manager heard about the dancer’s ex stalking her, trying to get her alone, Sylus did, too. As scary and unapproachable as he comes across, he does care about the people who work for him.

You could have taken the role from her easily, or even gotten a job as a dancer to have a more advantageous position, but Sylus refused. It was only a couple months ago that you’d relived that hell. There was no way he would put you into a similar situation so soon.

It’s not that you aren’t capable, you know that. You’d only fully recovered a few weeks ago, the scars on your back mementos to the end of a nightmare. Still, the time it took to heal meant no working - not even to sit in Sylus’s lap as he goes over contracts. You were antsy, you were restless. And you were helping Little Miss Hunter get in her uniform.

You adjust the collar, a little rougher than necessary. Sylus catches it from where he stands leaning against the wall, but says nothing. Miss Hunter tries to swat you away. “You don’t need to be so intense!” You ignore her in favor of fixing her name tag and checking her earpiece. She was stiff under your fingers, uncomfortable with being so close to someone who clearly didn’t like her - even more in this moment, it seems, than usual.

“He’s in his mid-20s, short curly hair, blonde, with square glasses,” Sylus reminds her. “You’ll be serving drinks in the area around Tanya’s stage, where he’s most likely to be lurking.”

“Don’t you have bouncers for this sort of thing?” she huffs.

You step behind her. She tries to turn her head to see what you’re doing, but you push her chin to face forward again. Her hair is too long, presenting a clear hazard in the bustle of the crowds and the difficult job of waitressing. You gather it up and tie it into a secure bun at the back of her head.

He tilts his head, unimpressed. “Of course, sweetie. I run a legitimate operation here, despite what you may think of me.” He crosses his arms, finger tapping against his bicep. “His Evol allows him to change his appearance, meaning with a few easy steps, he can forge his ID to be anyone he wants and slip inside unnoticed. You’re good at reading people. I’m sure you’ll find him in no time.”

You carefully insert a hairpin into the bun. She reaches back to feel it, the design on the decorative tip indecipherable to her fingers alone.

“If he figures you out or you get cornered, use that,” Sylus says seriously, nodding to the pin. “In the right hands, it can do some damage. Even if you can only manage to scratch your attacker, it’s coated in a fast-acting toxin.” Before she can protest, he adds, “Just enough to make them sleepy, sweetie. You won’t be killing anyone tonight.”

With the finishing touches of her outfit complete, you step back toward Sylus. Little Miss Hunter can’t help feeling intimidated by the Onychinus boss and his guard dog, allies or no.

“Ready?”

She nods with steadfast determination. “Ready.”

-

Sylus studies the shifting crowds through the surveillance cameras hidden around the club. Luke and Kieran watch the monitors, as well. From here, he can keep an eye on Miss Hunter’s movements. Deciphering faces in the crowd is another issue; he can make out some features here and there as the lights pass over them, but anything specific is impossible to make out.

You lounge on a sofa overlooking the entire club. It’s a private area, closed off from the general public, and shrouded in plenty of shadow to obscure your presence from anyone who isn’t looking for you. You idly swirl a martini glass of water, decorated with an olive, to give the impression of someone drinking. You act as an eye in the sky, watching for anything suspicious from a distance that isn’t caught on camera.

Miss Hunter picks up a tray of drinks from the bartender and begins making rounds to long couches and small tables to drop them off with a smile. They’re further from the stage, but she has to pass by the crowd every time she returns to the bar. It’s the perfect place to be to spot someone acting oddly.

The lights focus as Tanya comes on stage. She’s objectively beautiful, it can’t be argued otherwise. The skimpy costume draws attention to her curves and the plush of her stomach. She smiles seductively as she dances for the guests, tan skin glowing under the lights like she’s meant to be there.

You know she’s being treated like a queen here - Sylus would never settle for less - yet you’re reminded of the other girls you knew once, who were starved and worked to the bone for money they wouldn’t see a dime of. You still remember the feeling of cold metal from the pole against your palms.

The Second Circle doesn’t exist anymore. After that night, after everything the police uncovered, it was stripped out and sits empty, waiting to be bought by some upstart business. All that remains is the imprint of the logo on the wall. You still see those neon lights in your nightmares.

“Raven, I’ve lost sight of the Dove. Do you see her?”

Fuck. You got so caught up in your head-

You scan the crowd by the stage, the couches, the tables. There’s no sign of a waitress anywhere in that section, and especially not Little Miss Hunter. You get up from the private couch and slip into the shadows of the exit, already calculating everywhere she could have gone off to.

-

The woman she kept seeing wasn’t ordering drinks the entire time she was there, which wasn’t unusual in of itself, except that all she did was stare at the stage, waiting for something to happen. Once Tanya finally went on, she seemed to become antsy and entranced. Miss Hunter was just going to slip into the employee backroom to let Sylus know what she saw. She didn’t realize the woman had followed her.

The thumping music in the main room covers up her shout as hands grab her and shove her into the wall. There’s no one else in the room. 

She punches at the woman, falling back on her Hunter training and the sparring she did with Sylus. Her hand connects with a square jaw. The woman that followed her in was now a man, fitting the description of the suspect to a T. A fist in return crashes against her cheek. Before she can call for help, a hand covers her mouth, shoving her head back into the hard wall. He grabs her hair, dislodging the hairpin and loosening the tight bun. She claws at his arms. She tries to reach for his face. The hand in her hair pulls her off the wall and to the ground. She stares up at her assaulter, trying to figure a way out of this mess when the door is behind him and she’s being backed into a corner.

She doesn’t have to think for long.

You grab the man by his hair and kick in the back of his knee. He falls like dead weight, and you direct that momentum into slamming him against the wall she’d just been pressed up against. His face impacts with a harsh crack. His glasses are skewed on his face, and blood drips freely from his nose.

You turn sharply toward Miss Hunter. You approach so fast, she’s scared you’re going to attack her next. She holds up her arms in defense on pure instinct. You just huff and grab her arms, hauling her back up to her feet. Her back is against the wall again, but as a support this time. You push her arms down from her face.

She gasps when you grab her chin, tilting her head this way and that, studying her. You frown at the early bruises beginning to form around her mouth and the cut along her cheekbone. The distinct shape of fingertips slowly start to darken where the man had silenced her. You let her go in favor of checking the rest of her over, searching for any more injuries. Thankfully, you find none. You finally meet her eyes.

She has no idea what to make of you anymore. You’ve hated her guts ever since she was dragged into the N109 Zone. You tease and taunt her through your actions, glare at her when she talks with Sylus. You even climbed into his lap once when she was connected to him by that red energy, curling up to him like a damn cat. And now here you are, checking her for injuries when you could be worried about securing the target.

You reach past her head and pull out the hairpin. You hold it pointedly in front of her face and raise a brow at her, silently questioning why she didn’t use it. She sheepishly takes it from your fingers, flushing with embarrassment.

“I forgot,” she mutters.

You step away. Sylus’s voice comes in over the earpiece. “I’m glad you two are finally getting along,” he teases. You catch the truth in his words, honing in on the nearby security camera to glare at him. He chuckles richly. “I’m on my way.”

A quiet click alerts you before anything else. You slam your shoulder against the wall beside Miss Hunter, covering her with your body just as a loud bang and a sharp burn skids across your neck. The door slams open. She peers around you to watch Sylus’s Evol disintegrate the gun in the target’s hand. It’s small, easily concealable. Sylus lifts the man up by his scruff and shoves him at the twins.

“Deal with him,” he orders gruffly. It’s a far cry from how he sounded just seconds ago, but the blood at your neck hadn’t escaped his notice. Just a little to the side and you would be dead. The thought alone terrified him.

Miss Hunter watches him quickly cross the distance, turning you to fully face him so he can assess the damage. It’s not too bad, thankfully. Deep enough to bleed for a bit, but shallow enough it didn’t hit anything major. He grabs a few napkins from the table at the center of the room and presses them down on the wound. You replace his hands to keep the pressure yourself, nodding your head toward her. She feels just as under scrutiny under his stare as she did under yours. He sighs.

“I’ll have the medic look you over when we get back. You might want to hide those bruises from your boss for a few days, sweetie. People will start to wonder just what you get up to in your spare time.”

She flushes with the implications and hits his arm. He doesn’t so much as flinch. “I’m not the one who lost me on the cameras.”

He scoffs. “Blame the twins, sweetie. It’s their oversight that led to this.” He gestures to the hairpin still clutched in her hands. “You had the means to defend yourself. Use them next time.”

Before their bickering can go on, you step between them to grab more napkins from the table. The old ones stick to your bloody skin when you pull them away. You quickly replace them. Seeing your injury was enough to shut them both up, no matter how minor it really was. You turn to leave.

“Thank you,” Little Miss says quickly, trying to get it out before you step out the door. You look at her, expression neutral if not a bit exasperated. She offers a smile. It looks jarring against the purpling bruises, but you nod anyway. You glance at Sylus, then exit the backroom to go wait in the car.

“They must like you,” Sylus comments with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes and smacks him again on her way out. “Shut up or I’ll stab you with the hairpin.”

“Oh, I’m terrified.”

-

You sit still, eyes closed and head tilted to the side, as Sylus tends to the bullet-made cut on your neck. He has you up on the bathroom counter, standing between your legs as he gently disinfects and bandages the area. Once it is securely protected from outside elements, he brushes a kiss over it.

“Thank you for protecting her,” he whispers. You open your eyes and tilt your head back up to look at him. His expression is so open, genuine. He really means it; not that you needed to see it to know that. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.”

You give him a wry smile. You look away from his face to seek out his hand, resting on the counter beside you. He offers no resistance as you pick it up, your palm to the back of his hand as you intertwine your fingers together and draw him up to your lips. You close your eyes as you press a kiss to his palm, before nuzzling into it. “I know you’re mine,” you whisper back. You look back up at him, resting your cheek in his hand. “And… Mephisto is starting to like her.”

He chuckles softly. “Oh? Is that all?” He smiles at your little nod. Mischief flickers in your eyes before you shut them to press your face into his hand some more. It’s endearing. You’ve let yourself relax around him, allowed yourself to indulge in his touch like this. Which reminds him…

He brushes his thumb against your cheek, trailing his hand to your jaw to guide your attention back to him. There’s a slight furrow in his brow and something heavy in his eyes. “What happened on your end?”

Ah. Caught red handed. You avoid his eyes in favor of following the line of his nose, the dip of his cupid’s bow.

He leans forward to nudge his nose against yours, drawing you back into his gaze once more. “Tell me.”

“The dancer…” You sigh, closing your eyes and shaking your head. “I got distracted.”

He knows exactly what you mean. He cradles your face with purpose, fingers pressing lightly to the back of your neck, keeping you close as he rests his forehead against yours. “No more clubs for a while,” he promises. “Someone else can deal with them.”

You can’t disagree, not when you got someone else on the mission hurt because of the environment getting to you. For all your pouting about being relegated to watch, you know he always had good intentions for keeping you off the ground.

He pulls away, but not without leaving a kiss on your forehead. He flips the hold you have on his hand to be holding yours so he can help you off the counter. “The chef is making your favorite. It should be finished by now.”

He swears he falls a little more in love with the way your eyes light up in excitement. The little bounce in your step as you drag him down to the kitchen mirrors the skip of his heart. And when you see Miss Hunter there, thanking you again for saving her, you even offer her a slight smile.

Sitting at the dining table, the Twins bickering with Little Miss and you sneaking his robotic crow bits of food that he doesn’t need, he’s never felt more at home.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter

[sasukedivorce]

i understand why most sns shippers want to ignore sasusaku and naruhina and thats completely valid but i kinda love thinking of sns in that context. like. what if you have been in love with your best friend forever and your soul is intertwined with his but for various reasons (which could be its own essay) you could never be together so you have to marry a woman who you aren’t remotely in love with so you have to yearn for eachother from a distance or have an illicit affair knowing you will never get what you want. thats some fascinating stuff. prestige tv/critically acclaimed gay indie movie/award winning novel type shit. from a shitty shounen sequel series btw. i’m incredibly normal before you ask.

[cringefaecompilation]

DORIAN STORM, ROBBIE DAYMOND, AND THE CRITICAL ROLE FANDOM

because some people don’t know how to act when a piece of collaborative media they like starts getting people of color to add to it. a good amount of this are things I’ve already discussed on my blog, so if you’ve been following me for a while, consider this a more polished version of my complaining. obvious content warnings for racism, with explicit focus on whitewashing, pinkwashing, and cultural assimilation.

quick note before we start: we’re talking about racism, not how annoying you think xyz white character is or how much you want to punt all xyz shippers into a fire. keep your comments focused on dorian himself; it feels counterproductive when conversations about the racism experienced by actors of color and the fictional characters they play snowballs into shitting on fictional white characters and completely ignoring the former.

with all that said, let’s begin.

if you’re reading this, there’s a strong possibility that you already know who dorian storm is, but just in case if you don’t, i’ll give you a quick rundown.

dorian storm is an air genasi bard from campaign 3 of critical role. he made his debut a few months before the third campaign official started in what was meant to be an anthology series on the channel: exandria unlimited. after eight episodes in that series, a short 14 episode run establishing the new campaign, and two more episodes in a sequel to the first anthology, dorian remained largely out of focus for the remainder of the campaign up until episode 92 whereupon he returned and rejoined his party for the third act climax.

while he’s generally beloved, most of his fans haven’t seen or acknowledged his debut, and have only watched the main series campaign. it’s a shame, given how little he’s given to do in the main campaign asides reconnect with his elder brother cyrus. most of his characterization is found in the anthologies and gets built upon when he comes back, so the fandom’s aversion to watching it means they’re missing out on a lot of what robbie’s established for dorian. the more i thought about this aversion, the more it hit me as to why people might be put off it. for such a beloved fandom character, most fans have completely forgotten that exandria unlimited was largely dorian’s story, with opal picking up the slack whenever he took a break from being in the spotlight. by comparison, fearne, orym, and dariax had minimal screentime and vaguer backstory setup. 

dorian and opal taking up the vast swath of story in makes sense for two reasons: robbie and aimee were completely new to the hobby! let the new guys have their fun instead of letting the professionals try to backseat drive the story! the second reason is that ashley johnson, liam o’brien, and matthew mercer are 100% going to return to critical role. it’s their jobs! so they can stand to fight over the same 15 minutes of screentime where aimee and robbie have their fun in the spotlight. even not-so-new kid anjali bhimani got a massive swath of her storyline and backstory established despite only appearing for half the first mini-series!

the same thing happened with calamity, where the plot was primarily moved by aabria and luis. sadly, lou did not get to add as much as them (or the rest of the cast imo) but brennan understood not to give marisha, travis, and sam special attention because they’re always there.

and if we’re talking about calamity, there’s another thing we’ve got to talk about. why is the pre-campaign three series that is predominantly played and dm’d by people of color, treated as more expendable than the pre-history avalir series despite involving three fandom-beloved characters and two fandom-beloved ships? how come people complained about an episode and a half being dm’d by aabria because “they weren’t warned ahead of time” but were fine with brennan taking over critical role for an entire month when there was equally zero “warning” for him to do so? and thinking harder, i suppose i came up with our thesis question.

do people even really like dorian?

DORIAN/ROBBIE BASHING

edit: robbie pulled a pro gamer move and this section is now somewhat inaccurate. see here for an explanation.

since dorian’s vocal haters aren’t as numerous as his vocal fans, i’ll go through this part quickly.

i understand that any character can be grating to anyone for any reason, but some of their insults and insistences about dorian and robbie tend to get a bit loaded. we’re not racist! we just think robbie daymond is just uniquely annoying with crosstalk and his character’s backstory doesn’t mesh with the story the campaign is trying to tell! he’s not a real member of the group because he wasn’t there for all their important moments! he should just die offscreen so they’ll shut up about him already! the only reason people want him back is because they’re rabid liam o’brien fangirls that want him to kiss a man with tongue on-screen!

we’ll touch on that last bit later, but there’s always a weird pit in my stomach whenever someone insists that dorian doesn’t work with bell’s hells. the watsonian side of me wants to argue that a runaway/disguised noble is a perfectly common npc type. but the doylist side of me wonders if they think it’s because robbie does not fit in as a person with the cast of critical role because there’s just something too different about him. i wonder if you can tell what it is.

and this last one is more of a nitpick, but a few people joked about how robbie, christian, and utkarsh were all interchangeable or sound or look the same. don’t do that.

in full fairness, i don’t think it makes someone a racist automatically if they dislike a fictional person of color. after all, you can say “i think finn was underutilized in the star wars trilogy and had an unsatisfying character arc, so i cannot bring myself to like him” and still acknowledge that there was bigotry in the writer’s room that led to said poor character arc.

unfortunately, someone might agree with only the first part of your complaint and then add on that they fantasize about blowing up john boyega with their mind so that rey and kylo can have their perfect aryan babies in peace. not only that, but the insistence that a person of color having a minimal role compared to the white people in the story to explain why you can’t be a fan of them goes from explanation to excuse rapidly when you realize how many white background characters are given their own sub-fandoms built solely upon headcanons.

which leads us to our next point.

DOUBLE STANDARDS AND WHITEWASHING

this fandom seems to have a massive problem with headcanons, but it’s not for the reasons you’d think. they have to act as though the person is only making up headcanons to spite either the rest of the fanbase or the human actor themselves. i’ve no such compunctions about headcanons. give pike glasses! make laudna viet! say that caduceus is a cane user! but there comes a problem when you insist that your angsty trauma headcanons are more genuine than someone who has legitimately gone through the same in canon.

what do i mean by that? let’s pivot a bit to a comparison between two seemingly unrelated characters that made the rounds about a year ago: essek thelyss and bor’dor dog’son. don’t worry, this ties into dorian, i swear.

both men were jaded by religion and religious people in their lives and were led down dark paths when martinet ludinus da’leth entered their lives and attempted to sway them into his anti-god cult. bor’dor was fully sucked into the cogs of his killing machine and offed by bell’s hells, but essek fled into hiding after giving ludinus a holy item that belonged to his people, realizing too little too late the weight of his actions.

according to fandom, essek was manipulated emotionally into a bigoted movement and just needed to be deradicalized because he didn’t know what he was doing was wrong. the fictional man of color, bor’dor dog’son, as portrayed by the real-life man of color, utkarsh ambhukdar, for some reason is not given this grace at all. in fact, he’s been compared to delilah briarwood of all people because both of them were villainous sorcerers that felt slighted by someone, despite this comparison falling flat outside of the aesthetic where she is a broken bird crying out for her husband rather than a conniving unrepentant villain. or perhaps they see him as just as evil as her for harming and deceiving the white player characters.

it seems fandom is more comfortable with the illusion of a person of color as voiced by a white man, filtered through a fantasy species canonically discriminated against, and further filtered through headcanons, fanart, and fanfiction by their choice rather than having to interact with the indian man on screen staring back at them.

and if bor’dor is demonized for being a person of color, then dorian is liked for… being a person of color… that the fandom can pretend he isn’t because his skin is blue and not brown.

dorian is literally a person of color with his blue skin and hair, but he’s still also an actual person of color because of his player. compare him to sam nightingale and katja cleaver, despite having powder blue skin and olive-green skin and being fantasy creatures (triton and orc), they wasted no time in telling brennan lee mulligan that there would be no “carmelinda” nonsense; they were a black transfeminine woman and an indian woman just the same as them.

and if you’re going to say, “okay but assuming a person of color has to play a character that’s the same race/ethnicity as they are makes you the real bigot!”

again, must i refer to sam nightingale and katja cleaver. they made the active decision to depict their characters the same as themselves. they consented to it. this was not some sort of shallow corporate-driven plot to force two women of color into portraying diverse characters to capitalize off their identities.

and likewise, the same can be said for robbie and dorian. robbie daymond identifies as multiracial and is part apache. that’s straight from his twitter, so it’s very easily accessible to anybody that would be curious.

so going back to critical role, dorian comes from a nomadic people who keep mostly to themselves and provide wisdom to its diasporic people that come to them for guidance. they’re extremely secretive and even more so distrustful of outsiders, resorting to violence as a last-ditch effort to ensure their secrecy. they can’t risk anything about their people or their culture falling into the wrong hands and warn their children to be wary of the outside world. dorian and his brother reject being called princes a lot of times, and cyrus only picks it up because he likes the sound of it!

if you aren’t from the united states of america you might not know (and even if you are, you still might not know) apache tribes are known for being nomadic. being diasporic and wary of outside forces attempting to harm one's culture only further bolsters the coding. dorian’s backstory appears to be robbie attempting to reconnect with his culture, and good on him! but for some reason, the fandom hasn’t picked up on that. look, i love fanart that emphasizes robbie’s culture, but the number of times i’ve seen people reblog/retweet it without a second thought and then go back to ignoring the exact same cultural coding in canon is… something else.

if vandran can somehow have an accent (and fjord can mimic it) from the southern united states of america off the coast of a continent based on eastern europe, if byroden is somehow comparable with the real-life city of laredo, texas despite being smack dab in the middle of a continent based on western europe, if the air ashari’s culture is a weird mishmash of samoan, irish celtic, and pan-east asian (by way of avatar the last airbender) cultures, then i don’t think it’s an unreasonable thought that the silken squall would not have to be a one-to-one recreation to be coded as such, laurel crowns be damned.

this lack of attention to this detail in fandom is a bit strange, as usually every other (usually male) character has their backstories and everything that their players intended for them memorized to a t by the fandom. it’s almost a running gag at this point where if someone makes a headcanon that bends canon the slightest millimeter and begins to gain traction, you’ll have someone more popular than them instantly vagueing “crazy entitled fans” who “think they know better than canon”. so what makes robbie’s unstated intentions for dorian (outside his affection for his friends and possible romantic crushes) completely fly under the radar? doesn’t anybody think that’s weird? does he need to say out loud that dorian is coded as native so people will realize it?

but even this erasure isn’t the worst of bigotry with his character, that’s saved for the next part.

STEREOTYPES

the irony of dorian’s backstory being whitewashed but his role in fandom still heavily conforming to racist stereotypes about native americans is not lost on me. it’s like there’s a veil keeping them from fully realizing it, but it’s thin enough for them to latch onto unconscious prejudices. there are a lot of caricatures of native americans in media, both within and outside of north america, but only two of them apply to dorian’s treatment in fandom. the magical indian and the noble savage.

the magical indian, much like the magical negro and the magical asian, is nothing more than a paragon of perfection that exists only to prop up the white characters. they give sage advice and mentorship, but have little to no aspirations of their own or even a life outside their relationship with their white protégé. they may die heroically to spur the white characters into action and mourn how kind and perfect they were.

the noble savage gives similar bolstering to the white characters, but carries even worse implications. at the very least the former is seen as something resembling a person, deified and lacking all depth as they may be. the noble savage is treated like an entirely alien species, and a violent and dangerous one at that. he is handsome, in an exotic, othered way, but violent and unable to be reasoned with and only ever sated for a time. despite being “one of the good ones” he still needs to be “civilized” completely out of his culture or murdered to avoid tainting white culture.

obviously nothing in this fandom gets that bad, but the parallels are there. prior to dorian’s return, the vast majority of fan content that detailed his return made him into the de facto therapist for bell’s hells. because obviously dorian wasn’t going through anything himself with the solstice, magic backfiring, and opal being corrupted! he’d be happy to be nothing more than a shoulder to cry on without any traumas or tribulations of his own to worry about! they all got solved and dealt with offscreen, honest. and after his return, people who were either on the fence about him or disliked him entirely began to come around once he positively interacted with and bonded with the other white characters they liked.

the complaint of “i dislike that dorian is never allowed to exist outside of his friends” gets misinterpreted as “it’s out of character for dorian to care so much about his friends” either by well-meaning or willful ignorance, but at the end of the day, it’s ignorance either way. this would be different if he was an npc, but he has hours of content that doesn’t focus solely on his relationships with other people. yes, it is a massive part of his characterization that he will do anything for his loved ones, but why are we focusing on them and not him?

then again, maybe fandom shouldn’t focus on other parts of his backstory.

any mention of the silken squall that isn’t reskinning it to be a generic fantasy keep tends to make it a living hell. sure, the bits and pieces we’ve heard from it make it extremely clear they’re unhealthily secretive, strict, and a bit full of themselves, but it’s not as if they’re evil aristocrats that kick puppies for fun. the tale of a young man that’s going against tradition is hardly one that belongs to a single culture, but i’ve found people find it the most digestible when they strip it of all nuances. it’s the “no, dad, i’m my own man! individualism for life, baby!” power fantasy everyone’s always dreamed of where you can up and leave a situation and leave everything you’ve ever known behind.

so the silken squall is just homophobic, transphobic, and fantasy racist. dorian should completely abandon it and all its ways to go off gallivanting with the hells in perpetuity, which is the correct option. never mind that matt himself said that lgbtphobia in exandria is not the same or is far less common than it is in our world. never mind that in the previous campaign there was a massive story hook about prejudice and xenophobia that humans enacted on species they viewed as “monsters”. because why should the silken squall be anything more than a hive of bigotry and cruelty with no grey areas? everyone knows every flying city in exandria was pure evil and should be nuked from orbit! it’s true, brennan lee mulligan told me so!

i suppose i was wrong for expecting better. if two disney films meant to sell dolls to little girls that more or less looked directly into the camera and said “sometimes people do bad stuff because they were hurt real bad in the past, but that doesn’t make them bad people! racism is still gross!” could both get misinterpreted with zero nuance as being about an abusive matriarch forcing her family into impossible perfection, then i should’ve figured that people would do the same with a piece of adult media.

SHIPPING CONTENT

let’s finally get this out of the way. there is a very intentional reason i’ve been dancing around the subject of shipping with dorian.

i do not have anything against dorym as a ship. i do think that they like each other! they’ve got a lot of really sweet moments together! they just have a lot of personal things they have to work through to get there.

to say that it’s forced, or they’re “trying too hard” to make it seem like they’re about to confess their mutual love, or has had zero buildup can feel at times like a “gotcha” to mock its fans for being pushy. they’re both clearly trying to get back into the swing of things now that robbie’s returned and they can move forward with developing their relationship. i wouldn’t be surprised if it’ll be like late game beauyasha, which had a similar problem with not having a lot of content for it due to one member of the ship being absent from the table because scheduling despite being beloved by fandom until we got into the mid-100s.

that all being said, there is a tendency for dorian to be treated poorly in the ship by the shippers. all my complaints about it hinge solely on the fans. now, i don’t think all dorym fans are like this; i would be making the same complaints if dorian/laudna, dorian/imogen, fearne/dorian, doomstorm, or greystorm shippers did this as well. but since dorym is the most popular out of all of them, i will be discussing it primarily.

small mercies that dorian’s coding is largely ignored because that means nobody's making pocahontas aus with the dorym ship. (and if they are, please don’t tell me. we know its racist. you don’t need to show it to me to confirm that it is, indeed, racist. i don’t frequent ao3 for a reason). even without that, dorym still falls victim to the ship dynamic of the delicate white person and the strong person of color.

i’m already uncomfortable with how orym’s trauma is viewed by a vast majority of the fandom, but adding in the “dorian has no feelings outside his own and is only a machine to deposit in trauma coins until sex comes out” situation i described earlier, it gets bad really quick. often times dorian’s whole worldview is warped to focus only on orym and orym’s feelings. he certainly trusts and looks to him as a leader, but the constant insistence that orym is the only thing that matters in his life, orym is the only person he would trust unconditionally, orym is the only one he would ever truly be in love with, he must be the one to fix orym’s trauma and make him whole with no work from orym’s side at all and orym orym orym orym orym-

yeah it’s bad.

and now we come to braius doomseed, the newest bull on the block. sam riegel introduced his new character as an over-comedic flirt who went after everybody with a pulse... and laudna! provided you’re able to take a joke, a lot of people had fun cracking remarks about how braius confirmed that bell’s hells were just another basement away from having a real orgy instead of a fake. but then there were those who did not like the joke, and by that i mean, people who genuinely wished death upon sam, braius and the shippers ironic and genuine for daring to get in the way of dorym. because dorian is orym’s man, not braius’ man!

do i really need to say why it’s wrong to say or imply a white person owns a person of color? do you need an explanation for that? it’s bad! very bad!

i must reiterate: i don’t think every single dorym shipper acts like this or has never spoken out about this trend. i follow a good number of people that like the ship and a lot of them have no problem with shipping them with other people and treating them as their own characters on equal footing. it’s okay to like the ship and it’s okay to not like the ship.

or if you don’t like the ship, you could always make nazi jokes.

would you believe that this post actually made me want to make this one? there is a score of perfectly good reasons to dislike dorym as a ship as stated previously, but you made a joke about how a white guy is getting denied of his rightful claim to a relationship by a native guy? i take it back, maybe people do need things explained to them. you certainly don’t see laura/marisha pc shippers speak about aabria or erika this way.

speaking of, that makes for a terrific segue!

imodna tends to be bashed by both ashrym and dorym shippers in equal measures, partially due to misogyny and lesbophobia usually rampant in m/m shipping spaces, and partially because people still have lingering wounds from entitled beaujes shippers from campaign two. i think it’s safe to assume that a vast swath of the holdover from campaign two abandoned ship (heh) following episode 34, as that’s when i remember seeing a lot of angry imodna shippers complaining about how orym should have died instead of laudna and ragequitting the campaign. but what does this have to do with dorian, you ask?

well, i haven’t seen any fanfiction or aus where dorian is laudna’s abusive boyfriend that imogen must save with her sapphic mind powers (again, if it does exist, keep that shit to yourself because we know it’s racist) but i have seen some imodna fans utterly despise orym and anything that has to do with him. and if they hate anything that has to do with him, that includes dorian.

most of the “dorian is a useless character that doesn’t need to exist/only exists for crazy fangirls/should die offscreen” comments as stated all the way back there come from imodna shippers sniping back at a lot of the people being crappy about their ship. or in fanfic/fanart they’ll overemphasize his snottier or selfish aspects or make him out to be an impulsive dimwit as a “joke.” long story short, they aim at the white guy and dorian gets gored with the shrapnel.

SO NOW WHAT?

i think it’s pretty obvious where to go from here. do better. watch exandria unlimited and exandria unlimited kymal! acknowledge the story that robbie is trying to tell.  be respectful and ask questions if people are willing to give answers. and if you don’t find dorian enjoyable or interesting as a character, think about why you don’t and ask yourself if you’d extend that same indifference to a white character. it’s not that hard to simply say that a ship or a character just isn’t your thing without being bigoted about it!

hopefully this post helped people see things they may have overlooked in their analyses of dorian and thanks to @bam-monsterhospital, @fear-ne and a bunch of anons for adding their input!

[punkshort]

'the way we were' masterlist

18+, minors please do not interact, warnings/tags included for each chapter

Paring: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak (no Y/N)

AU (I kept was the outbreak and common characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. No Ellie... yet.)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. When the outbreak happens, you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), Language, Themes of death/depression that can be graphic at times, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

Status: complete

Look What We've Become - sequel

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen - Extra Scene

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

I think most of these could be read stand alone, I tried to add a brief backstory to these if it was necessary

Chronological Order:

Moving Day

The Contractor

All Yours

Listen

Three Days (part one)

Recovery (part two)

credit to @cafekitsune for the dividers

[another-lost-mc]

Blasphemy

When you pray to him, it's not forgiveness you're asking for.

MICHAEL x gn!Reader 1.8k words | NSFW | Obsession | Sexual Themes Content Warnings: Obsessive thoughts, invasion of privacy, suggestive themes and some sexual content. A/N: Read the sequel here.

It starts when Simeon gives you the lost Ring of Light.

You think it’s a dream at first, the blinding golden-white light that overwhelms your senses. Suddenly a man’s voice, clear as if he was at your side, speaks to you and offers his blessing and good luck. The demon brothers panic later about seeing light from the Celestial Realm spill from your room, and you freeze when you realize the person you spoke to must’ve been Michael himself.

You tell yourself it’s simple curiosity that motivates you to learn more about him. The very mention of Michael’s name brings up so many varied, intense reactions depending on who you talk to. You speak to the angels first. Luke admires him wholeheartedly, but Simeon’s forced smile and carefully guarded answers to the questions you ask make you feel guilty.

It’s more complicated talking to the demons about him. Sometimes, they say his name with cloudy expressions and pursed lips like they just bit into something sour. Other times, they look far-away and try not to smile when they reminisce about events that happened long ago.

Mammon complains to you about Michael’s no-nonsense approach to work and discipline, and Asmodeus tells you some abstract memory about Michael while he paints your nails. He sounds nostalgic when he mentions all the ways Lucifer and Michael are similar, and the ways they’re also completely different.

Lucifer doesn’t talk about Michael very much, but he’ll usually answer your questions so long as they’re vague and not too prying. When he speaks about Michael, he wears the frown of someone that remembers hurting and being hurt by someone he loved, but it was so long ago the pain is a dull throb he can ignore.

No matter what the angels or demons tell you, you can't shake your interest in the archangel that is admired and feared in equal measure. Curiosity turns to fascination, and you feel some ravenous need to learn more. The things you’ve learned about him so far - the awe-inspiring feats, the high expectations he puts on those serving him, the cruel punishments for those who fail him - scare you and captivate you.

You spend more time with Luke who shares his memories of Michael so easily. It’s no wonder Luke enjoys baking so much - he tells you about Michael’s sweet tooth, the things Michael particularly likes to eat and drink the most, and Luke even offers to make some Celestial Realm desserts for you to try. When you eat them, you pretend it brings you closer to him, like you share something in common.

One day when you visit Luke at Purgatory Hall, he casually mentions getting a message from Michael and you nearly choke on your tea. He keeps talking about whatever task he’s been assigned, but your mind is racing. How did you not think of this sooner?

“I forgot my D.D.D. at the House of Lamentation, can I borrow yours?” The lie rolls off your tongue easily and Luke eagerly hands you his device without a second thought. When he runs off to the kitchen to check on lunch, you immediately pull up his chat history with Michael. You don’t have time to read everything properly, so you take as many screenshots of their conversations as you can, and you send them to yourself. When you’re finished, you close the chat app and head to the kitchen to help Luke.

Later that evening, you read and re-read the message history between Luke and Michael. You smile when you read about Luke’s versions of events in the Devildom, often skewed to make the demons look worse than they (usually) are. You’re touched by the way Michael seems to genuinely care for the young angel too. He responds to Luke’s messages with enthusiastic encouragement or gentle reminders to show his demon hosts grace and patience. 

Your eyes widen comically when you come across your name during one of their older conversations, and you feel your cheeks grow warm when you realize they were talking about you.

Luke: They’re so nice! They told me about some human world desserts that sound amazing. I’m going to ask them to teach me one day, if I can get the ingredients.

Michael: They sound like a wonderful friend to you.

Luke: I wish you could meet them!

Michael: Perhaps one day I will.

Those seemingly innocent words shouldn’t have this sort of impact on you. The logical part of your mind knows Michael is probably humoring Luke, grateful that he’s found a friend in the Devildom and happy to see that you’re a positive influence on him. The desperate part of your mind, the one that fixates on those words, reads them almost like a promise. One day you'll be able to see him in person, or perhaps even touch him if you’re brave enough. 

Their conversation lingers in your mind for the next several days, and you can't stop fantasizing about what meeting Michael might be like. The first meetings that you dream about skirt the line of innocent curiosity and unashamed blasphemy. One morning you wake up with your hand between your legs and the name of a faceless angel on your lips when you come. The memory of his voice rings in your ears and you still want more. You’re not sure what it says about you that you don’t feel ashamed at all.

You grow bored of re-reading the same juvenile conversations between Luke and Michael, and you turn your sights to accessing Simeon’s D.D.D. next. Simeon is older than Luke and you know his relationship with Michael is more complicated. You’re not sure if it’ll be as easy to get access to his phone, but fate is on your side.

The next time you visit Purgatory Hall, Simeon comes to see you and Luke in the kitchen. He looks a bit embarrassed and he’s scratching the back of his head while he holds his phone out to you.

“If you’re not busy, do you mind helping me with this?” he asks you a bit sheepishly.

You have to remind yourself not to be too eager when he hands over his device. “Of course! It’s not a problem at all. If you want to finish helping Luke, I can see what the problem is.”

You leave the two angels in the kitchen and retreat to the living room. The problem is obvious - the screen lighting is so dim it’s hard to read, and somehow Simeon changed the default language to some sort of demonic script neither of you understand. They’re both easy things to fix, and that leaves you with a few spare minutes to check his message history.

As you suspected, his conversations with Michael are more mature. They’re less focused on the daily sights that Luke is amazed by, focusing instead on Devildom life and politics. Michael is curious about Diavolo and his fallen brothers most of all. He asks pointed questions and makes subtle comments that seem purposeful if you read between the lines.

One of the more recent conversations he and Simeon had seems serious. You had no idea that Simeon stole the ring he gave you. It’s always difficult to read tone through words alone, but even you can decipher the undercurrent of disappointment and anger in Michael’s messages.

You understand now, with more clarity than ever, that Michael is intelligent, cunning, and should not be crossed. This realization should frighten you and put a quick end to your silly little crush. However, the temptation of forbidden fruit is too much for you to resist, and this knowledge fuels your fascination instead.

When you’re alone in bed at night, you give up all pretenses and surrender to lustful urges. Your thoughts of the mysterious archangel are steeped in lust. You remember the rumbling sound of his voice in your mind, and you can still feel the warmth of the Celestial Realm’s light. If he were to put his hands on you, would he feel that warm too?

It’s so easy to give into the fantasy that it’s his hands moving between your thighs while you touch yourself. You imagine returning to the Celestial Realm and finally meeting him in-person. You picture him towering over you, the embodiment of grace and power and absolute authority. You wonder what you might have to say or do to tempt him.

Thoughts of him - dark, depraved, delightfully sinful thoughts - are enough to push you over the edge while you stroke yourself beneath your sheets. You come once, then again not long after, riding the high of sin and corruption. You try to stop the whimpers and moans that threaten to spill from your lips. Breathy whispers that sound suspiciously like his name break the silence of your room, hushed secrets for your ears alone.

You’re still panting lightly, mind foggy from the pleasurable daze of your last orgasm, when your D.D.D. vibrates on the nightstand next to your bed. It’s an automatic response when you reach for it - with your clean hand, the one that isn’t saturated by the scent of your arousal - and mumble a quiet greeting when you answer. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the demon brothers got himself locked out of the house after partying all night.

“Did you think I would ignore your filthy prayers forever?” the smooth voice on the other line asks you.

Michael. You recognize who it is instantly and sit up in bed.

“Wait, how did you—?” you ask nervously, because how the hell did he get your number?

“You’re not the only one Luke trusts with his belongings,” Michael says knowingly, with a hint of amusement.

Oh no. Has he been watching you this whole time, waiting for your most vulnerable moment to surprise you like this? What does he know? What has he seen, or heard?

You’re completely unprepared for this conversation because he's rendered you speechless. Your mouth opens and closes uselessly while you try to think of something to say. What can you say? You’re excited and embarrassed, and your body warms up suddenly, like it’s on fire. 

He chuckles quietly, like he predicted this reaction from you. Your silence speaks volumes, and you realize you don’t need to say a word for him to understand you perfectly.

“Humans are such fascinating creatures,” Michael’s voice drawls, low and intimate in your ear.

You whimper and try to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise, but it's too late. He chuckles again and he sounds far too pleased with himself. "You were intriguing before, but not many are able to surprise me the way that you have. Perhaps you deserve a reward for your efforts.”

You can’t help but shudder from the lust simmering deep within your belly. Is he trying to sound seductive on purpose? You don’t know and it’s impossible to tell.

It seems like he can read your thoughts because he hums approvingly. “Yes, I think a proper meeting is in order, don’t you agree?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, and before you can attempt to speak again, the line goes dead.

[aethon-recs]

Hi! Do you take asks? I really like the idea of a tomarry fanfic with a crazy harry like Bellatrix crazy, maybe even being a follower of Voldemort. If you don't have any recs on this just ignore it. <3

Oh hi, yes, I absolutely love this theme/trope. Give me Harry with the crazy eyes, give me Harry with a vicious grin and blood dripping out from between his teeth, give me a feral little gremlin boy who’s been pushed to his limits — and who then decides to push back.

And then paired with Voldemort? A match made in heaven ♡

*

Tomarrymort Recs with Unhinged/Dark Harry

Again and Again by Athy (M, 335k, WIP)

Harry is on his 12th reincarnation of his same old life, and he can’t figure out a way to break the cycle. By now, he’s become a jaded, bitter, and tired wizard who just wants to die. But in this life, he befriends Voldemort and is given a chance to learn how to live.

As Portioned from a Whole by @cannibalinc (E, 24k, WIP)

In which Lord Voldemort undermines the Prophecy and raises the infant Harry Potter as His; in all aspects.

Bitumen by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 32k, WIP)

Harry finds out the hard way that dementors can’t digest horcruxes. Now separated from his body, his best option is to seek out a similar soul for help, who just so happens to be the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Damaged by @duplicitywrites (E, 26k, WIP)

All his life, Harry has been beaten and bullied—both at home and at school. New student Tom Riddle is handsome, charming, and dangerous. Harry has all the reasons in the world to stay far, far away from him. But he doesn’t. 

Descent into Darkness (part 1) / Breeding Darkness (part 2) by Athy (E, 496k, WIP)

Everyone has abandoned Harry when his name comes out of the Goblet of Fire, and he feels utterly alone. Through an accident, Harry and the piece of Voldemort's soul that resides inside him begin to interact, and Harry slowly begins to change. (Note: this fic and its sequel are no longer available on AO3, but it is possible to still find it via Google.)

From Every Ruin by @officialsporkintheroad (M, 5k, complete)

Harry dies during the final battle with Voldemort, but instead of going back to the battle, he wakes up back in the graveyard in his 4th year. Confused with everything, Harry dies, only to wake up at the graveyard again. And again. And again.

Hell is Your Son from Another Dimension by @wynnefic (T, 28k, complete)

A desperate Order of the Phoenix turns to an alternate dimension to summon a hero who has the power to defeat Voldemort. They do get Harry Potter from another dimension, but it’s not entirely who they expect.

nothing left to lose by @cindle-writes (E, 11k, complete)

After the war, what Harry wants more than anything is Tom’s soul piece back inside of him. He goes to desperate measures to attain it.

Painted in Grey by @louveclaviere (M, 34k, WIP)

In a world where Harry Potter is born a few years after Tom Riddle, he becomes Lord Voldemort's most trusted general.

The Foul (part 1) / The Great (part 2) by @meles-merrivale (M, 24k, complete)

Harry travels back in time — very far back in time — and ends up in the Dark Ages. He confronts the worst combination of immortality, fate, and time travel paradoxes.

The Left Words by authoresswithoutwords (M, 235k, complete)

When Harry starts Hogwarts, he finds out that the “Avada Kedavra” on his left wrist means the Dark Lord Voldemort is his soulmate. He hides the words so that no one can see, but he doesn’t become any less of an outcast.

Uncrowned by OatMilkLatte (M, 104k, WIP)

A war between magic and muggles destroys everything that Harry had ever known and loved. He travels back in time to prevent the war, stopping at nothing to carry out his vengeance.

we who walk in shadows black by @evandarandahalf (M, 4k, complete)

In which Harry Potter is a vicious little gremlin who mysteriously knows too much, and Lord Voldemort adores him for it.

*

[justmymindandstuff]

Bounded by fire and pain - Helaena Targaryen x Aegon II Targaryen // Green Siblings

summary: In the night Aemond finally gets his dragon, he also loses an eye. Aegon can hardly bear the guilt and hatred. He can't stand the sight of himself. Strangely, the person who helps him the most is the last person he expected it from. His sister and future wife, Helaena. And somehow Aegon manages to find his place again.

words: 2.552

Warnings: Blood, injuries, family problems, Fluff(?), Targtower Siblings dynamic, this family needs therapy like soo much therapy

AO3

A/N: I need more Helaegon fics ( If you know some good ones please send them to me). I love their doomed failmarriage. Soo I write out this headcanon I have about the Night after Driftmark. I hope you like it :) It was actually planned as a Helaegon exclusive but somehow I got carried away at the end so we also have a "guest appearance" from Alicent and Aemond and is a bit more about family.

sequel/ part 2

Enlish is not my native language

Gif not mine // requests are open :)

Anyways have fun and be kind.

The room is illuminated only by a few candles, Aegon stumbles over some of his belongings as he enters. His steps are unsteady. The wine in his blood still troubles him. He would prefer to reach for the next cup right away. He wants to drink so much that he completely forgets this entire evening.

Aegon sits down on the uncomfortable bed. The room is unfamiliar. Everything here is unfamiliar. He hates it. He wished he could just walk out, mount Sunfyre, and flee from this island. But of course, all exits are now better guarded, and a Kingsguard stands at the end of the corridor. Aegon has to wait until tomorrow before he can finally leave Driftmark. And hopefully these memories as well.

Aegon closes his eyes for a moment to soothe the headache a little. An image of his brother appears, his pain-wracked face, the clenched hands around the chair, and the tightly pressed lips.

Aemond was brave. Not a single sound escaped his lips as the master removed the rest of his eye and stitched up the wound. At the sight of it, Aegon feld sick. He had to turned away. He couldedn´t bear the sight of his little brother, now forever mutilated.

Aegon opens his eyes again and gets up from the bed. He starts to pace restlessly back and forth in the room. The desperate pleading of his mother ringing in his ears. She demanded justice, but his father simply ignored her and brushed her aside like a doll.

He's been doing that his whole life, Viserys pushes aside his mother, his siblings, and him. Usually he ignores that they even exist.

Aegon's temples throb, he searches for a cup of wine, but finds nothing. He needs to distract himself. He can't think about it. His steps are getting faster, he keeps pacing back and forth. Aegon feels the tiredness pulling at him, yet he cannot close his eyes. He cannot bear the memory of his brother.

And the strong bastards have once again gotten away without punishment.

A hot rage rises within him.

He is angry with his nephews.

Angry about his half-sister.

Angry about his father.

He hates them all.

Aegon grabs the nearest object and throws it against the wall. The small wooden box breaks against the stone wall into its individual pieces. He couldn't care less.

His gaze lingers on the mirror. His long blonde hair is sticking out in all directions and is tangled. Restless and dull eyes stare back at him. Aegon cannot stand his own reflection. He approaches the small mirror and wants to smash it.

But his gaze is distracted by an old pair of scissors.

Without really thinking, Aegon reaches for it and begins to roughly cut individual strands of his blonde hair haphazardly. His hand trembles as the first strands of hair fall to the ground, and with them, the first tears fall from his eyes. Aegon angrily brushes them away with the back of his hand. Then he roughly grabs his hair again to cut off the next strand. His scalp pulls painfully when he tugs at his hair. But this pain is preferable to the pain in his heart.

His hand trembles, and his reflection in the mirror is blurred by the tears in his eyes. In the next moment, a pain shoots through his hand. Damn! The scissors had caught his hand.

Aegon throws them onto the table and looks at his hand. Blood flows over the palm of his hand and his fingers, dripping onto the ground.

The sight of his furious mother as she goes after his half-sister comes back to his mind. She bleds today as well. Aegon had never seen his mother like this before. He knows that Aemond is her favorite son and that she loves him with all her heart. But that she fights for him like that surprised him. And his heart filled a little with warmth. At least his brother has someone fighting for him. Aegon curse quietly.

"What are you doing there?"

Startled, he flinches and turns around. Unnoticed by him, his sister opened the door and entered the room.

"Nothing," he says. "Go away." He sounds meaner than he actually intended, but he wants to scare her off, so being meaner is better.

But Helaena does not disappear. Instead, she approaches him. While she goes to him, she tears the fabric of her skirt. Aegon watches her skeptically. She stops in front of him and reaches for his injured hand. Aegon is pulling it away.

"I said go away." he hisses at her again.

Helaena looks at him critically for a moment. Her gaze is uncomfortable for him. He doesn't want her to see him like that. He doesn't want anyone to see him like that.

"No." she answers and simply reaches for his hand again. Her fingers are warm as she touches his hand.

Aegon could theoretically shove them away. But he doesn't want to hurt her. After all, she is his sister.

Even if she is strange.

Even if she constantly has disgusting creepy-crawlies with her.

Even if she will someday be his wife. Or maybe precisely because of that?

Helaena starts to wipe away the blood and then bandages the cut with the fabric she tore from her skirt.

"That's just a small cut. It will heal without a scar," she then says. Helaena examines him closely. Aegon cannot stand her gaze, so he looks at his hands. Helaena still holds his in hers. She wasn't really thorough when it came to wiping off the blood. She even stained her own hands with blood.

"How do you know that?" Aegon asks, as the silence in the room is so uncomfortable that he can no longer bear it. He has no idea why he is asking that. He doesn't know what else to ask.

Helaena is his sister and his future wife, but she is also a stranger.

Aegon knows that it's his fault. He pushed her away from him, called her crazy, and repeatedly stated loudly that he did not want to marry a crazy woman.

"I am listening," Helaena replies, reaching for the scissors. "Sit down, otherwise I can't reach the top hair."

He is surprised by himself that he listens to her and sits down. Would she stab him with the scissors?

He deserves it.

He hasn't been a good brother for a long time. If he ever was one.

Helaena starts cutting his hair. She is cautious, and it is clearly more pleasant as it was as he tried to cut it.

"I also always hear what you say about me."

Aegon's mouth is dry. He never thought about how his sister felt with all his silly remarks. He didn't even think she would pay attention to him.

"I'm sorry for what I said," he whispers, unsure if she even heard him.

"I know," she replies to him. Aegon doesn't know what to say. He just keeps watching as more and more bundles of blonde hair fall to the ground. He feels that with each strand, a little of the weight on his shoulders lifts. The burden of the Targaryens.

He hates them all. His father, his half-sister, and his uncle. He hates the way they look at his mother, the way they smile at his siblings and him. He hates them all.

But he loves his mother, he would die for her and he will fight for her, just as she fought for Aemond today.

He loves his brother, even though he is always mean to him.

He loves his sister, even if he doesn't understand her in the slightest. Aegon can hardly looking at her for more than five minutes. Every time he did, guilt crushes him.

Once they are married, she can no longer escape him. Aegon will pull her into his darkness, and in the end, nothing will be left of the girl who was once his sister. He would plunge her into her misfortune.

How could she ever be happy with someone like him?

Aegon knows that he is not good enough.

His father shows it to him every day. He is not good enough for him, and that's why he is not the heir.

Helaena sets the scissors aside and runs her fingers through his hair, allowing the last loose strands to fall to the ground. Aegon leans into the almost tender touch and closes his eyes for a moment. Helaena carefully tucks a strand behind his ears. When Aegon opens his eyes again, he has to blink away tears and has to swallow a few times.

"Thank you for your help," he whispers and only then looks in the mirror. The typical long hair of the Targaryens is gone, instead, his blonde hair stops just below his ears. He wishes for a moment to get rid of the blonde, but he's not a strong bastard, so he has to live with it. Aegon suddenly feels lighter, and as he breathes in, he has the feeling that the air is truly reaching his lungs since a long time.

"That looks good on you," says his sister with a slight smile. Aegon turns his head towards her.

"Why are you so nice?" he asks confused. "I don't deserve this. I have neglected you, insulted you, and made fun of you. I don't deserve this kindness. You should have stabbed me with that damn scissors, then we would both be freed from our fate."

Helaena is silent for a moment. "Our fate," she says then and sighs. "There is nothing we can do to escape our fate."

Her voice sounds a bit distorted, and Aegon has to suppress the reflex to make fun of her and say something mean. Instead, he sighs.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry that I'm such a bad brother. I did not deserve any of your kindniss." he admits then.

"You deserve kindniss because you are a human Aegon. And I am your sister. I am you Family. You don´t have to earn that your Family cares for you and loves you. You are not a monster, Aegon. You are simply lost. But you will find your way back," she says with such confidence that Aegon wants to believe her. Even if he doesn't know if he can do it. He nods and tries it with a smile.

"I will do better." it sounds like a vow even though it isn't one.

"You will. Come on now," Helaena says, extending her hand to him.

"Where are we going?" Aegon asks, confused. He doesn't reach for her hand, and after a moment, she lets it drop again.

"To Mother and Aemond. It is better if we are all together today."

Helaena turns around and leaves her brother's room. She doesn't turn around, she knows that he is following her.

Helaena does not go to Aemond's chambers but to those that have been assigned to the queen.

Ser Criston stands dutifully at the door. When he sees the two children, he nods slightly and opens the door. Aegon steps behind Helaena, trying to hide behind her.

The queen's chambers are almost deserted, a small fire still burns in the fireplace, and otherwise, candles are lit. Alicent lies in the bed, holding her younger son tightly in her arms. Aegon can hear Aemond sobbing even though he is hiding his face against her shoulder. He sees how the body of his little brother trembles under his sobs. Aegon feels sick at the sight and would prefer to turn around and run away. But Helaena's hand closes around his and she squeezes it gently. Her grip is gentle even though he notices that she is tensing her muscles, ready to hold him firmly at any moment should he attempt to escape. Helaena is Aegon's little sister, but she is also Aemond's big sister, and Aemond needs his family now.

His mother lets her gaze glide over the short hair, the blood-stained hands of her children, and the bandage on Aegon's hand.

"Are you allright?" she asks her older children while her hand gently cares over Aemond's narrow shoulders.

Aegon just nods.

"Yes. We wanted to be together tonight," says Helaena as she approaches the bed. "May we stay?"

The corners of his mother's mouth twitch slightly, and Aegon is sure she almost smiled. But she doesn't do it. Aegon is afraid that his mother will never smile again. Alicent lifts the blanket that is over her and Aemond. Helaena gently pulls on his hand so Aegon has to move. Helaena slips under the covers next to Alicent. Aegon hesitates for a moment but then climbs into the big bed and lies down next to his brother under the blanket. Suddenly, Aegon feels like he is five years old again, and his mother has taken them all out of their beds to let them sleep with her in the queen's large comfortable bed. A strange feeling of warmth spreads within him.

Aemond slightly turns his head towards him. At the sight of the large red wound across his face, Aegon has to swallow. This scar would never disappear. Just like the scar on Aemond's heart. They all have the same scar on their hearts. In this case, it was Viserys who wielded the blade.

"You look terrible with short hair," Aemond says with a trembling voice but a hint of a smile on his lips. Tears gather in Aegon's eyes.

"You too," he replies in a hoarse voice. Aemond laughs briefly and then his body is shaken by the next sob. Aegon doesn't know if he is in pain or if he is simply hurt because of the injustice that has happened to him. He hesitates for a second, but then he carefully puts his arm around his little brother. Carefully, he gently pulls him closer.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers with a trembling voice, blinking to hold back the tears. Then he hears his mother's sobbing next to him, so he looks at her. Tears are running down Alicent's cheeks again. She holds Helaena in her other arm and now reaches out her hand to Aegon. He hesitates again for a moment before reaching for her hand. She wraps her hand around his, and as he feels the warmth of her hand, he can no longer help himself but let the tears run down his cheek.

"Mummy I´m sorry I failed you. It will not happend again. I promise. I will protect all of us from now on. I swear it Mummy." this time it is a vow.

His mother nods slightly and squeezes his hand. Then she kisses Helaena's blonde head and Aemond's forehead. She always did that before she put them to bed. Aegon had forbidden it years ago. Now, however, he slides closer to her and lets his mother kiss his forehead. Her tears hit his cheeks and mix with his. But as Aegon sinks back into the pillows and holds his little brother in his arms, the anger, the hatred, the fear and the guilt feels just a little bit less terrible.

Aegon had forgotten what it feels like to be with his family. That wouldn't happen to him again.

**

part 2/sequel

[ferrstappen]

LONG LIVE l Esteban Ocon

(a/n): omg the first installment of the Taylor Swift Collection. I'll admit this one was a bit of a stretch but I just had this idea and needed to get it out! I hope you enjoy it and would love to have your feedback <3

disclaimer: in this au, the reader plays the role Zendaya plays in the franchise.

summary: Esteban Ocon (aka the biggest Spiderman fan, according to himself) tried to bribe his girlfriend, gave her the silent treatment, he called her out during race weekends, but Marvel was just too good keeping their secrets. (actress!reader).

i) I said “remember this moment” in the back of my mind.

July 2018

When Esteban told his friend Lance that after months of liking every post and Instagram story of the actress playing Michelle Jones on the new Spider Man movies, he slid on her DMs in hopes she would answer, Lance laughed.

No, he didn’t laugh, he cackled.

It was July 2017, the first Spider-Man movie in the hands of Marvel Studios had just dropped and was a complete success, and of course Esteban had his team request a copy to the studios so he could host a viewing on his home theatre. 

He had avoided spoilers and even movie trailers in order to be surprised, most of his friends teased him about it, but he couldn’t careless, even dedicating that entire night to follow and stalk every cast member on Instagram. 

That’s when he noticed the gorgeous actress who played MJ, mysterious and intelligent on screen, and that’s when everything started for him. 

He googled her age, visited her Wikipedia page to see her accolades and projects, he even checked her dating history and the rumors surrounding her relationship with Tom Holland, the actor who played Spider-Man. 

His life went on, months went by where he silently liked her posts, just as another fan of the series and sequels of his favorite superhero, then he was focusing on the 2018 F1 Season, even as things turned ugly with not only having to worry about performing, but also with trying to keep his seat. 

Maybe his Instagram algorithm knew him a little too well when a Marvel fanpage showed on his timeline, announcing filming for the second movie of the Spider-Man sequel was taking place in London and Italy, and between the stress of training, press breathing on his shoulder about his future in Formula 1, he decided to take a risk.

Which takes him to his Canadian friend laughing at him. 

He made his way towards the Williams trailer where Lance was getting ready, not really caring that chances were he was going to take his seat at Racing Point, they were friends. That’s why Lance felt so comfortable staring at his friend in disbelief as he couldn’t stop the giggles that just kept coming. 

“Esteban, why would you subject yourself to being ignored? She’s from Hollywood, there’s no way she even knows who you are.” Lance tried to reason with his French friend, but Esteban shrugged. 

“It doesn’t matter, I know she’s probably not going to see it, but I have nothing to lose. It doesn’t even count as humiliation because we’ll probably never going to meet each other.”

Lance squinted his eyes at his friend. “You can’t have that attitude, dude!”

“But you just laughed on my face!” Esteban argued.

“Yes, because it’s my job as your friend, but at the same time I have to hype you up, you know?” Lance told him, but Esteban suspected he was just being too Canadian. “What did you tell her?”

Esteban sighed and scratched the back of his neck: “If she wanted to attend the British GP since they’re filming there.”

Lance let out a sound of approval. “You know? I think it could work out. Maybe you should find ways to drop how much of a fan of Spider-Man you are during press, you know? Just find a way, and then people will start ‘Oh, this Formula 1 driver is so adorable, he’s such a fanboy’.” The Canadian suggested. 

“How did you even think of that?” Esteban asked, but was interrupted by his iPhone going off, his engineer asking him where he was.

He didn’t get to talk with Lance again, just throwing himself on the hotel bed while his eyes were already closing due to stress and jetlag. Forcing himself off the bed to take a shower and then going to bed, checking his phone for one last time. 

His verified account worked in a weird way he still wasn’t able to fully grasp, only notifying him when other verified accounts messaged him or followed him.

And that’s what happened. 

Hey Esteban! I’m so sorry it’s taken so long to answer but ive been a bit busy. 

Attending Silverstone would actually be such a great time, is the invite still up? 

In case it is, this is my agent’s email so your people can give him the details ;)

The French read and reread the message at least ten times, not knowing if his mind was playing tricks with him, but when he read this notification, he gasped and dialed Lance. 

“LANCE!”

@(YNLN) started following you. 

ii) I was screaming “long live that look on your face”

(Y/N) thinks that Esteban exaggerated how much of a Spider-Man fan he was. They were officially dating now, so she figured it would eventually play down. 

God, was she wrong…

With the 2018 season finally over and Esteban not having a seat for 2019, he leaned heavily on her, even if he knew he was going to be under the wing of Mercedes for the time being, it wasn’t easy. 

She saw he was kind of down and with more free time than usual, plus they were still living the sweet first months of their relationship, so she surprised him with a guest pass and paper bracelet to allow him in the premises and set, leaving in on the table of her apartment while waiting for him to arrive for their movie date.

“Bebé, what is this?” He asked once he stepped inside your apartment, an envelope with his name written and an official Marvel stamp on it. He didn’t know what it was, but a grin was already starting to form. 

“Hello, Este. How are you? Did you miss me? Because I really missed you.” The actress placed her arms around his waist, shaking as his body trembled with a laugh before he leaned down to leave a caste kiss on her lips. 

“Of course I missed you, MJ.” He said and she playfully laughed at his nickname. “So, what is this?” He picked up the envelope. 

“It has your name on it, doesn’t it?” 

Esteban carefully moved from the embrace of his girlfriend and opened his gift, not even trying to hide the gasp that escaped his lips once he realized what was inside, carefully reading the letter inviting him to set, signed by Kevin Feige and Jon Watts, the director. 

“No, bebé… Is this for real?” He said with his accent getting thicker with excitement. 

“I think so.” She smiled before he kissed her, literally sweeping her off her feet. 

He knew he’d have to keep a low profile, the public not knowing yet about their relationship, the only one he had confided in was Lance, and now people in Mercedes knew, so it wouldn’t be long before the cat was out of the bag, but he was waiting for his girlfriend to feel comfortable to break the little comfy bubble they’d created.

They were in Venice when a black Mercedes picked them up at 4 AM, but he didn’t care. The street was closed and cameras were being placed, people walking all around as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and freezing. 

He knew it was cheesy, but the set lit up when she walked in. People greeted her all around, dozens of people and she stopped for each one of them, asking for their families and how was the hotel they were staying at. And the fact that he got to walk hand in hand with her, carefully carrying one of her bags, he was on cloud nine. 

But it got better. 

A British accent called (Y/N)’s name as they were approaching the luxury trailers parked not so far away from the set installed on the Italian streets. Of course Esteban recognized the accent, holding his girlfriend’s hand a little tighter. 

“Tom, this is Esteban, the guy you’ve been hearing so much about.” She said with a playful roll of her eyes, earning a chuckle from the brit as he extended his hand. 

“Pleasure to meet you, mate. I saw you during the Austin circuit, it looked sick!”

“I’m a big fan of your work, you’re the best Spider-Man,” Esteban said and his girlfriend just started to realize that maybe it wasn’t a play, he really was a huge fan. “And you’re always welcome on the paddock, just let me know.” Esteban said and Tom thanked him before being called to his trailer, telling the couple that they should go with the rest of the cast and other friends to have dinner.

“So… You’ve been talking a lot about me?” Esteban asked (Y/N), playfully raising his eyebrows and leaving a kiss on her hair. 

ACTION!

Esteban eyes followed as Peter Parker walked around the wrecked set, everything was wet and upside down, and he was in awe as he noticed (Y/N) making her way into the scene, questioning her friend if he was fine. 

Even if he couldn’t fully comprehend the dialogues or what was happening, his eyes were fixated on her, as she gave his co-star the same caring and sweet eyes that she gave him in real life, and he felt like the luckiest man on earth. 

The day was so great that they ignored the few tabloids that picked up the Instagram post of the Holland siblings, the happy couple, and other members of the cast when they went to dinner to a nice small restaurant. 

“Are Spider-Man star and F1’s star Esteban Ocon dating? We have the details from inside sources!”

 iii) When they gave us our trophies, and we held them up for our town.

Hungaroring, 2021

Every reporter went crazy when they saw (Y/N) driving a Land Rover with Esteban Ocon as her co-pilot, smiles on their faces as they pretended to ignore the hundreds of flashes capturing their faces through the tinted windows. 

They’d been dating for almost two years, but still hadn’t confirmed anything. Of course people knew; everyone involved in F1 and Marvel knew they were official since 2019, and of course their fans were aware they were together after seeing pictures of them together all the time, but no one has managed to capture even the slightest form of PDA between them, which made people still think they were friends… Very close friends. 

But there was something about this weekend that made them act more carefree, holding hands when they got out of the car, not caring if paparazzi got low-quality, grainy photos of the showing the tiniest bit of affection. 

The actress pecked his lips before he went to his driver’s room to get ready, engineers rapidly approaching him to talk a few things over. 

Time flew by and soon she was giving him one last hug and good luck kiss before he got in the car. 

“You know, this is pretty dangerous…” Esteban dramatically said, earning a grin from his girlfriend. 

“Estie, no.”

“But… I’m your boyfriend. You can trust me!” 

“It’s a secret, only a couple more months to go and you’ll watch it. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it more not knowing what’s gonna happen… Plus, I know you’re going to tell Lance whatever I tell you.”

“Is the multiverse theory true?” She was tempted to tell him something, but she always chose against it, having signed too many NDAs.

Just as she was going to answer, Esteban was called to get in the car before the race. 

“I love you, Este. Drive safely, okay?” (Y/N) got on her tiptoes and kissed him softly, like it was just the two of them. 

“Je t’aime beaucoup, bebé.” 

She became accustomed to the roaring of motors, the smell of gasoline and the rush of a pit stop, but that didn’t mean the worried butterflies on her stomach calmed down, she still bit her nails while listening to his radio and watching him overtake his rivals. His parents were the same, eyes not moving from the screen.

But today, it was a different kind of anxiety. She was on the edge of her seat, the fresh coat of nail polish chipped as everyone in the garage started realizing that they were going to win. The first for the team and for Esteban. 

She couldn’t stay seated during the last four laps, completely aware that F1 cameras were paying more attention to the Alpine garage, wanting to get the best reactions, and obviously she was there, but she couldn’t care less. 

It became real during the last lap, mechanics and engineers running to greet their driver on their maiden win.

Esteban parked the car and got out, jumping right into the awaiting arms of everyone involved, his face was one of pure disbelief, his eyes glassy with unshed tears and shaky hands.

She was holding your phone as his mom and dad went to hug him and congratulate him, wanting to immortalize the moment after so many years and sacrifices. Of course she loved his parents, but she wanted the moment to be over to hug him and congratulate him.

And that’s what happened when he noticed her. He noticed that he didn’t really know how to approach her, knowing cameras were filming their every movement and being broadcasted.

That’s why she took the matters in her own hands. Her hand went to cup his face, his arms found their home on her waist as he lifted her and kissed her. It wasn’t a pretty kiss, they were trying to pour every feeling, knowing words wouldn’t do it justice.

“Babe, I’m so proud of you, congratulations. Shit, I don’t even know what to say!” They laughed and went for another short kiss, people around them cheering. 

“You know what a great prize would be?” He asked her, gently placing her back on the ground. 

“Not a chance, Estie.”

(YNLN) just posted.

(YNLN): GP winner/king of my heart/love of my life @estebanocon

iv) Long live the walls we crashed through, how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you. 

Sadly, Esteban wasn’t afraid to admit he pleaded his girlfriend to show him the new Spider-Man script. He tried to bribe her with silly gifts, gave her the silent treatment. His last resort was to call her out during race weekends. 

“Esteban, we are living the last races of the 2021 season and you seem alone, did you girlfriend leave you for Peter Parker yet?” The interviewer asked him laughing, making Esteban smile. 

“Yes, she is in the middle of her press tour for the latest movie.”

“I don’t remember many movies creating this level of hype and mystery, do you have any inside details?”

“Don’t even get me started,” Esteban answered, his accent getting thicker. “I don’t know anything, she has kept everything a secret. I’ve pleaded, I even spoke with her co-stars and they told me (Y/N) warned them to not tell me anything! Not even after I offered full-access paddock passes!” Esteban was  shooting his last shot to get any information, even if it meant exposing his girlfriend. 

“Interesting, Marvel is that good keeping secrets, huh? We hope to see you on the red carpet. Good luck on the race! Esteban Ocon, everybody!” 

“You are shameless!” That was the first thing Esteban heard after he picked up the FaceTime call from his girlfriend. 

“Oh, you saw it?” He asked her nonchalantly, like it wasn’t a big deal. 

“You just have to hang on a couple of weeks and you’ll see it. Babe, I have to be back with the interviews soon, but I was told you can bring a plus one to the premier.”

“Am I not your plus one?” Esteban asked confused. 

“Nah, people like you too much now. We can walk the red carpet together, though!”

Esteban smiled at the sight of her perfectly dressed girlfriend. “No, it’s your moment, wouldn’t want to steal it with my perfect height and handsome looks.” He joked, earning a loud laugh from her, his favorite sound. 

She was right, time flew by. Now Esteban was admiring as people worked on her dress and makeup. Someone was fixing his hair for one last time before they left the fancy hotel room. 

Paparazzi were already lining up outside the hotel, waiting for them. They smiled before the valet got the car. She gave him a weird look, seeing a sports car, very similar to his Alpine car, with no one inside. 

“You didn’t think I was going to let someone else drive you, right?” He offered his arm and opened the door for her, helping her with the dress and leaving a kiss on her hand before walking towards the pilot seat. 

She couldn’t stop smiling, resting her hand on Esteban’s thigh during the short ride as he expertly drove, eyes not leaving the road to interlace their fingers. 

“Chérie… You have one last chance.”

“Esteban!” She stared at him in disbelief. 

“Can’t blame a fan for trying.”

Esteban would never tell her, but it was completely worth it in the end. His eyes couldn’t leave the screen for a second, too enthralled by the story being played in front of him, not even noticing the nervous eyes of his girlfriend, she wanted him to enjoy it because, as she found out during the time loving him, he was not exaggerating how much of a fan he was.

She noticed how he didn’t even try to hide the tears and the gasps during the movie, he probably didn’t notice how his grip on her hand got tighter every time a twist happened. Tears were falling freely as he watched his girlfriend on screen, playing what he thought was the saddest scene on modern cinema. 

He was the first one on his feet to start the stand-up ovation in the movie theatre. He didn’t care about anything when the lights were turned on, his only worry being softly kissing her lips while people around them were still cheering. 

“Shit, I still can’t believe he pulled it off…” 

That was Lance, shaking his head and taking a picture with his iPhone to show it at their wedding, knowing that Esteban and (YN) were endgame, even if he made fun of Esteban.